


The Case Of The Missing Escort

by EllanaSan



Series: 52 stories in 52 weeks Challenge [6]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Effie has been missing since the war, F/M, POV Katniss Everdeen, Papa!Haymitch feels, Post-Mockingjay, References to Depression, References to Drugs, all canon though, mama!effie feels, mind the change in rating though, now complete with bonus scene, slight deviation from canon, the summary looks sad but you need to trust me, unplanned but that happens, well book canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-21 06:59:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13735578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: It was on a trip back from the bathroom that Katniss realized.  “Where’s Effie?”Haymitch’s gaze slowly turned to her, almost hollow. His eyes were bloodshot and a little glassy and she wondered how much of the stash he had brought back with them he had already drunk. “Gone.”“Gone gone or gone dead?” she insisted because the two were possible. That was what people always did, wasn’t it? Either leave or die? In her experience, nobody ever stayed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the 52 stories in 52 challenge created by ourwritintherapy on tumblr. The prompt for week 6 is : A story about finding something that has been lost.
> 
> This one is soooo long guys… It totally got away from me. Katniss’ pov is often a challenge for me so I hope you will like this hayffie story through her eyes. It’s a slight deviation from canon at the end of MJ that should become obvious once you’re a few paragraphs in and I’m going from there… So, it does look sad at first glance but do keep the prompt in mind? Trust me haha. Papa!Haymitch and Mama!Effie feels a plenty with some everlark on top for good measure. Enjoy and please leave some feedback if you read this monster!

It was on a trip back from the bathroom that Katniss realized.

They had been back in Twelve for what she thought to be five days by that point and she had spent most of them lying on the couch, unwilling to face the empty house. She didn’t care enough to try and obey Sae’s gentle hints about taking a bath or getting fresh air. The only time she got up was to use the bathroom and even those trips were far and few in between.

She hadn’t been surprised not to see Haymitch since he had brought her home, too certain he would have drown himself into a bottle as soon as he had slammed his front door shut. It was alright. She didn’t need a minder and it was her fault if he had been sent back here. Well… It was a little bit his too but mostly, it was hers, and she had never denied him his derivatives. Some things were too painful to be faced.

Like losing a sister you loved more than anything.

Or, in his case, a brother and a mother.

Her own mother’s absence wasn’t a surprise either, on the contrary it was almost a relief. If she had been there, Katniss would have had to take care of her and without that burden… Without that burden she was free to be as miserable as she pleased. She could remain on that couch, die on it, and nobody would be the wiser.

Well… Except Sae. The old woman came and went without Katniss really acknowledging her. She liked her but she was an intruder to her grief and her grief was too big and too heavy for her to include other people in it.

She had grown used to that routine though. To Sae’s on and off presence, to the woman forcing food into her, and to ignoring her prompting about showering and changing clothes. Which was why she was briefly dazed to find Haymitch sitting on the armchair by the window, his eyes watching something outside but his mind obviously far away. He was turning the battered golden bangle around his left wrist.

And _that_ was when she realized.

She hadn’t seen or heard from Effie Trinket since the night of the interviews before the Quell, since Plutarch had told her, all those months ago after the victors’ rescue in Thirteen, that her whereabouts were unknown.

“Where’s Effie?” she asked.

It was the first question she had worded since they had been back and she wasn’t even particularly interested in the answer. She wasn’t particularly interested in _anything_. She just wanted to lie down on the couch and let her mind drift to nothingness, to _forget_.

Haymitch’s gaze slowly turned to her, almost hollow. His eyes were bloodshot and a little glassy and she wondered how much of the stash he had brought back with them he had already drunk.

“Gone.” he answered after a minute and his voice was rough.

She sat back on her couch, dragged the blanket over herself so she could recreate the nest she wouldn’t leave for hours.

“Gone gone or gone dead?” she insisted because the two were possible. That was what people always did, wasn’t it? Either leave or die? In her experience, nobody ever stayed.

Well… Haymitch did, she supposed. There was always that.

“We never found her.” He closed his eyes and then fished the familiar silver flask from his pocket to take a swing of whatever was inside. “They must have killed her when we were still in Thirteen. That’s what Plutarch thinks anyway. Seems like the most probable. I looked everywhere else.”

She could hear it in his voice, the kind of hollow exhaustion she felt down to her bones.

“You should stay here with me.” she heard herself say. “Your house’s too big.”

“Your house’s the same size, genius.” he snorted without any humor.

“It’s too big too.” she retorted and then she rolled over, facing the back of the couch, tugging the blanket higher on her shoulder and stopped paying attention.

Paying attention was exhausting.

She was vaguely aware Haymitch took her to her word and more or less permanently moved into that armchair to Sae’s growing despair and annoyance. Neither of them really made an effort to be sociable. Sometimes they ate what the woman cooked for them, more often than not, they let it grow cold and she put it in the fridge with instructions about how long to warm it up.

The phone often rang. At first, Haymitch always bolted to answer it, always sounding hopeful although she wasn’t sure about what. Eventually, he stopped bothering and they let it ring and ring.

Haymitch had terrible nightmares.

Two days out of three, she lied awake on the couch and listened to his whimpering, his helpless pleading for something or someone that always ended with him screaming himself awake and consuming a whole bottle of liquor.

Her nightmares weren’t any better but she usually woke up from them safe in his arms, to his off-key humming.

Katniss wasn’t sure how long that went on for.

“Spring’s in the air.” Sae commented one day, her hands on her hips. “You should go hunting.”

Her eyes drifted to the clear blue sky she could glimpse through the window and, for a second, she felt _tempted_. After all those months spent in solitary confinement, withdrawing from the morphling, the idea of an open space was almost overwhelming.

“I don’t have a bow.” she opposed.

“I put everything in the study.” Haymitch mumbled, his own mood not uplifted by the end of winter.

 _Everything_ , it turned out, meant every object she had ever cared about. The pearl Peeta had given her, her father’s picture, the family plants book, her bows… And her father’s leather jacket.

Everything seemed to go quickly after that.

Peeta came back and, with him, _life_.

It wasn’t _easy_ to learn how to function again, to get up in the morning, to force herself to do things, to _live_ … There were a lot of bad days in the midst of progress.

At some point, Peeta moved in and Haymitch moved back to his own house.

She and Peeta found a new balance.

Haymitch didn’t.

Alcohol wasn’t easy to find in the rebuilding district and so he was limited to one or two binges a month if he didn’t want to hit withdrawals before the next shipment. He came close a few times anyway. It seemed the only way he could exist nowadays was either drunk or, at the very least, buzzed.

Peeta hated it. Katniss tolerated it.

Making a book about fallen friends was her idea but it was one Peeta was only too happy to help with. Haymitch contributed sometimes. An anecdote here, a story there… He laughed sometimes, if he was drunk enough and if it was a good memory, he laughed a broken laugh that always ended into a small bitter sigh.

“We should do a page for Effie.” Peeta suggested one morning, as they all sat around the kitchen table. He had been reviewing the entry they had added for Finnick the previous night, a picture of Annie’s baby.

Haymitch sucked in a breath as if he had been punched. Katniss didn’t think he had drunk yet that day. Dawn wasn’t that far away and the only thing he had swallowed since he had showed up in their kitchen was some coffee and half a muffin. He never touched the blueberry ones anymore, she had noticed, even though they used to be his favorites.

“Yeah.” he said slowly, rising his mug as if to bring it to his lips only to place it back down on the table. “Yeah, we should.”

Katniss grabbed the jam she had gone to fetch in the pantry and slowly sat back down, her grey eyes riveted to him. Peeta wasn’t oblivious either, it would have been hard to miss the sadness on their mentor’s face, the sudden tightness of his mouth. The way he automatically reached for the bangle he was still wearing…

She wasn’t sure where that came from, really, that open grief about their escort. She was pretty sure they had hated each other’s guts. She would have _sworn_ they had hated each other’s guts. But the way Haymitch was acting… Even when they had discussed Chaff, he had been quicker to hide his sorrow.

Every time Effie was mentioned, it looked like someone stabbed him in the chest.

“I will draw her.” Peeta decided with more cheer than strictly necessary. He selected a spot in the leather-bound book with a couple of blank pages and ran his palm on one of them. “In that pink dress. Remember the pink dress?”

Peeta’s tone was tentative, almost cautious, and he directed his question toward her rather than to Haymitch. Good memories. That was what the book was for. Remembering dead friends, make it about everything they loved instead of the sad fact that they had died…

“She liked that dress.” she nodded with a worried glance of her own for Haymitch.

“And I will make her wig gold.” her boyfriend promised.

“No.” Haymitch snapped, his hand bundling into a fist. “She was… She was _more_ than just an escort. We should… We’re not gonna remember her like _that_. That was just _her mask_. That wasn’t who she _was_. No wig. No… _Red_. Red was her best color.” His face crumpled and, before Katniss and Peeta could have done more than exchange a look, he scoffed and rubbed his eyes. “Never mind. She would have hated that. You’re right. Gold wig, pink dress. That’s fine.”

“Alright.” Peeta offered after clearing his throat. “Do you want to write it yourself or…”

He shook his head. “What I’ve got to say about her can’t fit on two pages, boy.”  

He took his flask out and left.

Neither of them were surprised when they went looking for him around dinner time that night to find him passed out in a puddle of his own sick. Peeta helped him clean himself up and tucked him into bed. Katniss, meanwhile, looked through the various yellowish magazine clips and pictures scattered on the coffee table. They went back decades earlier, some were of a very young Haymitch with other victors… Most of them were more recent and were of him and Effie. Some of the pictures…

“I think they were together.” she whispered when Peeta came back downstairs.

“That’s his personal stuff. You shouldn’t be looking.” he chided her – yet he still took a look himself, and was just as shocked to see a blond woman that could only be Effie without wig or make-up. “Let’s go home.”

She clung to him that night. It was too easy to imagine losing Peeta, too easy to remember a time when she _had_ lost him. She didn’t sleep a lot and Peeta didn’t either, he spent half the night petting her hair. Around four, they both gave up and got up. She went hunting and he headed to the cellar with a fresh pot of coffee. She supposed he wanted to paint.

When she came back home well after lunch, the remembrance book was open in the middle of the table and Effie Trinket’s face was staring back at her, all in pastel and gold, caught in the middle of a laugh. She looked fabulous, just like she ought to be.

Katniss felt a tinge of guilt for having forgotten about her for so long.

She ventured down the stairs to the cellar Peeta had converted into a painting studio. There were a lot of canvas propped against the walls, waiting for the paint to dry. Some of them were nightmarish and didn’t make a lot of sense, like his mind when he lost control she supposed. She recognized the landscapes on others – the arenas, the Capitol under the bombs, some places in Twelve that didn’t exist anymore, some that still did. A couple were portraits of herself, one was particularly daring and made her raise her eyebrows because he had painted her naked back, her neck strained so she was looking toward the painter, her braided hair falling on one shoulder and she was pretty sure that look didn’t belong on her face. Or maybe it did on certain occasions but she hadn’t been aware she could look like _that_. She looked… She didn’t know if she liked that one or if it made her want to blush. There were a few sketches too…

And on the easel, a medium size oil portrait of Effie Trinket was staring back at her, her red dress a splash of color against the grayish-blue background. She had no wig on, blond hair curled freely around her head, even a little wildly, she was not wearing any make-up either and Katniss found her features a little different from what she remembered without it. Softer, maybe.

Peeta was washing his hands at the small sink in the corner of the room. 

“Do you think he will like it?” he asked.

“How did you know what she looked like?” she frowned. He hadn’t looked at the pictures long enough the previous night to commit her face to memory like that. And the make-up… The make-up changed everything. Haymitch hadn’t been wrong when he had talked about _masks_.

“I remember.” he shrugged, wiping his hands on a stained towel he kept next to the sink. “She was with us at first. I think.”

There was a crease between his eyebrows, like there always was when he was trying to figure out something from his time in the cells. It was usually best to distract him before it could lead to an episode. It happened now and then. “It’s beautiful.”

“I just hope it helps him.” he shrugged.

“Me too.” she whispered, but she wasn’t optimistic.

And she was right not to be.

Haymitch accepted the portrait but neither she nor Peeta could figure out where he put it because they never saw it exposed anywhere. They never asked either, aware that their mentor wouldn’t like their acknowledging of his pain.

So life went on, stuck in that routine.

Katniss and Peeta learned how to live together, learned how to navigate the difficulties of being an actual couple. They fought sometimes but they could never remain mad at each other for too long. Once, she stormed out in anger and couldn’t go further than the yard’s gate before turning back and running into his arms.

They had been separated enough.

She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him again.

They learned.

Sometimes, she even forgot to be sad about Prim. Of course, it only made her twice as desperate afterwards, when she realized.

Haymitch reverted back to who he had been before the war, before the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. He hardly ever left his house, he spent most of his time drinking and he didn’t eat if she, Peeta or Sae didn’t remind him to. He had lost a lot of weight in Thirteen, it was almost scary how skinny he now was for a man of his built. Katniss could count his ribs under the thin shirts he wore in summer.

“I’m worried.” she whispered to Peeta one night, after they had finished dinner and Haymitch had stepped on the back porch. They had brought food to his house like they always did on the nights it became obvious he wouldn’t come over by himself. They usually left some in his fridge just in case he got hungry later but the leftovers often remained there for days. “Try to talk to him.”

Peeta didn’t exactly look happy with the task but he nodded all the same, pecking her lips before joining him outside.

She didn’t mean to pry but she wanted to do the dishes in hopes it would make the smell more bearable in that house – more and more she was thinking of finding him a new housekeeper because he had gone back to treating his home like a dumpster and that was no way to live – and the backdoor and the window were both open wide because of the warm weather. Voices floated to her as she quickly washed the plates and glasses.

“Since when do you smoke?” Peeta sighed.

She chanced a glance through the window, indeed spotting the red glow of a cigarette in Haymitch’s hand.

“I don’t. It’s just occasional.” Haymitch snorted as if it was a private joke. And it sounded terribly sad.

“What’s the occasion, then?” her boyfriend insisted, more gently.

Katniss put the plates and glasses to dry and moved on to gathering the empty bottles that seemed to accumulate on every flat surface. For the longest time, Haymitch didn’t answer and the only sound in the summer night was the clicking of glass when she accidentally bumped bottles together.

“It’s her birthday.” their mentor eventually whispered, so low she almost didn’t catch it. “That’s her favorite brand.”

Peeta sighed again. “Don’t smoke the whole thing, alright? You will make yourself sick.”

“So what?” Haymitch chuckled bitterly.

Peeta probably had a few good answers to that but Katniss stepped out before he could say anything, quietly declaring it was time to go home. She understood Haymitch better than she liked sometimes. He pushed it to the limits because it hurt so much inside he wanted a physical pain to hold on to.

“We need to do something.” Peeta said, later, when they were cuddling in their bed. “It can’t go on like this.”

“Short of bringing her back to life, I don’t think there’s anything we can do.” she retorted, perhaps too harshly.

He didn’t suggest anything else and she was too angry to apologize. At him for saying stupid things because nothing made that sort of pain better, at herself for being mean and at Haymitch for being so broken.

On they went.

Summer turned into fall.

Peeta started working on rebuilding his family’s bakery.

She started selling most of her daily game to Sae’s new restaurant.

Haymitch started giving thoughtful looks to his old hunting knife.

Fall slowly died into winter.

One day, she detoured by Haymitch’s house on her way back from a hunt, burying into her father’s leather jacket because the wind was icy. It would snow soon, she mused, she gave it two weeks before winter truly reached them.

She found him on his back porch, in nothing but a dirty thin white long sleeved-shirt and checkered sweatpants, bare feet despite the weather. An almost empty bottle was precariously dangling between his fingers. He was staring at the three geese she had seen wandering around his backyard for a few days now.

“Who are your friends?” she asked, propping her bow on the side of his house and dropping her messenger bag in the dust before coming to sit on the steps next to him.

He smelled bad. Unwashed skin, sweat, dirty clothes, moonshine and a faint hint of puke.

Peeta forced him into the bathtub sometimes, when he was too far gone to realize, but he always sulked for days afterwards. He hated his body being handled while he was too out of it to do it himself. Still, it always came to a point when there was no other choice and they were nearing it again.

“They won’t leave.” he grumbled. “Think they’re nesting. Stupid things.”

“You could keep them.” she suggested.

“No.” he spat. “Don’t want them.”

“How about a dog?” she insisted because that was Peeta’s latest idea to get him a little more invested in everyday life. “Thom’s Samoyed just got a litter of puppies and…”

“Pets die!” he roared and she flinched because she hadn’t thought he was _that_ drunk. He bolted to his feet without much coordination and rushed at the birds, gesticulating frantically until they fled in a chorus of outraged honking. He tossed his bottle after them. His wild aim didn’t even come close to the fleeing geese but the glass shattered when it hit the ground. “Everyone die! Pets! Kids! Family! Everyone _fucking_ die!” He kicked the dust with his bare toes and then he started laughing, turning back to face her, opening his arms wide only to let them fall. He sounded _deranged_ and broken. “Except me. _I_ never die.” His speech was slurred, the words melting together on his fuzzy tongue. “Drop me in an arena, I’m gonna come back. Drop me in a backstabbing city, I’m gonna come back. Drop me in a war, I’m gonna come back.” The fight seemed to have left him and he trudged back to the steps. He flopped back down next to her and leaned his head against the banister, wrapping both hands around a wobbly wooden bar as if to better anchor himself. “I always come back and they’re always dead and I’m always alone.”

 _And I just want to die_.

That part was left unsaid but she heard it anyway. She had thought it herself more than once in the past.

Her eyes were burning with tears she refused to shed when she looped her own arms around his biceps and rested her whole weight against his side. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

The tension seemed to leave his body and his face softened. “Yeah. You are. Best daughter I’ve never had.”

She laughed but it was more sad than amused. “We won’t leave you. Peeta and I. We all stick together, alright? It’s gonna get better, Haymitch.”

“Don’t think it’s gonna get better this time, sweetheart.” he sighed but he still dropped his head on top of hers. They stayed like that for a while and it was nice, even if he smelt atrocious. She was about to make a joke about that when he took a deep breath. His tone was complicated – _conflicted_ maybe. “I loved her.”

“I know.” she confessed. Because she had figured that much out.

“I really, _really_ did.” he insisted, slouching a little with the pain those words inflicted. “She died thinking I didn’t care and, _that_ , I can’t ever… I can’t ever take it back. I can’t ever make it _right_. She died thinking I _fucking_ didn’t care and I don’t even know how…” He stopped talking and rubbed his face. “I don’t know if it was quick or… I don’t know if she was alone or scared or… I don’t know.”

“Would it help?” she asked cautiously. “If we could find out?”

“I’ve spent months trying to find her.” he admitted. “It’s hopeless.”

“Why wasn’t she in Thirteen with us?” she asked. She had been wondering since the whole _‘it turns out Haymitch and Effie didn’t hate each other after all’_ thing had turned up.

“She was supposed to. Something went wrong.” he spat. “She was captured. I tried to find her. We know she was with the victors at some point because Jo said so but… Then, she _vanished_. They killed Portia and the prep team and I thought… But there was no footage, no body, no _fucking_ taunts… So I figured she was still alive. I figured… The not-knowing… The _hoping…_ That’s what gets to you, you know?” He scoffed and sat a bit straighter but he was swaying a little. “Yeah. You know. You’ve been there.”

She _had_ been there. Hand in hand with Finnick. And all that time she had been unaware her mentor had been going through the very same thing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

He shook his head, resting it against the banister again. “I know you’ve got a shitty understanding of how this thing works but I’m the mentor. I’m supposed to take care of you. Not the other way around.”

Would she even had listened? Thirteen had been… She had been angry at him because of Peeta. Lost and scared and confused.

She tightened her grip on his arm, alarmed at how cold he was. How long had he been sitting outside without proper winter gear?

“I’m the best daughter you’ve never had.” she argued. “Daughters take care of their dad too, you know. Two ways street.” She stood up and dragged him to his feet. “Come on. We need to get you inside before you freeze to death.”

He let himself be hauled to his feet and followed after her. If his grey eyes were a little misty, she pretended not to notice.

“You’re the only thing I’ve got left.” he muttered, once she had settled him in his kitchen and she had made him a hot mug of strong tea. “You and the boy. I want to do better for you. But…”

“You loved her.” she finished. And it was an explanation in itself.

Without Peeta… After everything she had been through, _they_ had been through, she didn’t think she would have made it without Peeta. She would have survived, maybe. But she would never have learned to live again.  

Like Haymitch had turned to his liquor, she might have gone back to morphling. Or something equivalent. Anything to stop the pain, both physical and emotional. She struggled still sometimes. Her body yearning for the drugs they had pumped her with after the explosion. There were moments she could almost feel the light weight of the tablets melting on her tongue.

“She died ‘cause of that.” he scowled, staring at the brown liquid in the mug. “’Cause I was too _fucking_ selfish.” He pushed the tea away and closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands. “It’s _killing_ me, sweetheart. I don’t even know when it happened. I’ve lost her and I don’t even know when. I keep thinking… Was she still alive when I did this or… Was it because I did that… Did she hurt? Did she hate me? It’s… It’s _killing_ me.”

She couldn’t bear the silent tears that caught in the out of control beard. She came to stand behind him and wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders and she just held him until he had let it out. He kept repeating he was sorry the whole time, as if letting her see him cry was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

He was drunk and embarrassed and it was very awkward when he eventually moved away from her and mumbled something about needing a nap when she could guess what he really wanted was to be alone so he could have a proper meltdown.

She grabbed the bow and the bag she had left outside and went home in slow tired steps.

Peeta was in their living-room, trying to make a new framed painting hang straight on their mantelpiece. He turned back when he heard her come in and frowned at the determined expression on her face. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going to find out what happened to Effie.” she declared and hearing it aloud only cemented that decision. They owed it to their escort. And it might bring Haymitch some well-needed closure.

Peeta stared at her for a moment and then nodded. “Where do we start?”

They started with Plutarch because it seemed like the most logical person to go to.

 _“I understand, Katniss_.” the former Head Gamemaker sighed in the phone once the small talk was out of the way and she had explained what she wanted. _“But I have been trying to find out for more than a year, as Haymitch is well aware.”_

“He said she was supposed to be brought to Thirteen with my prep team.” she countered. “What happened?”

She was sitting at the kitchen table, a notebook open in front of her, ready to write down everything the Capitol man could tell her. Peeta was sitting across from her, listening to every word, ready to offer emotional support.

 _“There were a few people who needed to be evacuated from the Capitol at the same time we would rescue you from the arena.”_  Plutarch patiently explained, regret in his voice. _“Effie was one of them. To be very honest with you, I wasn’t entirely in favor of her coming to Thirteen. Given her position as an escort… I misjudged, I will admit. I did not think she had given the Capitol any reason to doubt her loyalty and I thought Haymitch’s insistence was rooted in more personal worries so I did not take all the precautions I usually would have. I thought she would be safer in the city but he refused to back down on her being brought into the rebellion. He wanted to keep her with him during the rescue mission and I insisted she would be safer on the second hovercraft. It proved to be a mistake. She was supposed to go back to her apartment where my team would have grabbed her but she was arrested before she reached it. It was out of the rebels’ hands from that point forward.”_

Katniss scribbled down the few key information. “So she wasn’t in on the rebellion at all?”

Not that it would have made much of a difference to Snow, she figured. If the President had known Effie and Haymitch were involved… Emotional blackmail had been Snow’s weapon of choice. Effie would have been used like Annie had been, a guarantee that Haymitch would behave.  

“She didn’t know anything.” Peeta confirmed, chewing on his nail. “They used her to… They hurt her to make me talk.”

Plutarch must have heard because he cleared his throat. _“I tried to locate her as early as our first few days in Thirteen. None of my agents could confirm with a hundred percent certainty where she was. We suspected she was detained in the Center with the victors but even so…”_

“She wasn’t on the list.” she realized suddenly. And it was like a bucket of icy water had been poured over her head. She hadn’t even spared one thought for her escort at that point. When she had made the list with Prim… Her only concern had been for Peeta – and by extension, Annie and Johanna – Effie had been so far from her mind… Hell, she had thought their escort was safe and sound having parties and cocktails. She hadn’t suspected for one second that…

 _“No, she was not.”_  the Capitol gently confirmed. _“Not that it would have made a difference, Katniss. The rescue team did not see her. There were other prisoners down there, we know that for sure, but they did not see her. Johanna claimed she was kept with her for a long time and that they moved her a little before the rescue. I do not think Snow wanted to give her back just yet, between you and me.”_

“Alright.” she said, still reeling from that realization. Peeta had grabbed her hand and was studying her with rapt attention but she kept her eyes on her notebook. “Then what?”

 _“Then, Portia Rose and Peeta’s prep team were executed.”_  the Head Gamemaker reminded her.

She slipped her fingers out of Peeta’s grip to note that down. Peeta read what she had written and shook his head. “I never saw Portia and the boys down there. I’m sure.”

She repeated the information to Plutarch who seemed to hesitate a second. _“I am not surprised. On the execution footage… Portia and the prep team did not look too…”_  He stopped and audibly winced. _“Katniss, I do not wish to upset you. Are you certain you…”_

“Tell me.” she snapped, as always irritated by people who thought it would be better for her not to know upsetting things. It wasn’t better. It wasn’t better for her and it wasn’t better for Haymitch who was suffering because of it.

“ _By all accounts, unlike the stylist and the prep team, Effie Trinket_ was _tortured during her time in captivity.”_ Plutarch finally admitted, after a few more seconds of deliberation. _“I am not surprised she would have been kept with the victors. I am sorry.”_

It was terrifying to imagine. Effie Trinket being beaten into submission.

Her mind flashed back to finding the prep team chained in Thirteen’s cells and how horrible it had been because those three had been so sheltered until then, so _innocent_ … And that hadn’t even been that bad compared to… “Okay. But she wasn’t executed with Portia, right?”

 _“Well, that’s the big mystery.”_  Plutarch answered. _“Some of my sources insisted she was transferred to the Darkhill prison but that’s when she disappeared. Prisoners of her status… Political prisoners, if you will, or prisoners whose identities Snow would rather keep secret… There were no real records. It was the most likely place for her to be but we didn’t find her there or in any other Capitol prison, dead or alive, after our victory.”_

Katniss frowned. “If you didn’t find her body…”

 _“Katniss._ ” Plutarch said, almost cautious. _“We did find a few corpses in those cells but they were recent deaths. There were months between our rescue of the victors and the surrender of the Capitol. If she died in that period…”_

“They would have gotten rid of the body.” she surmised.

Peeta’s face grew somber and Katniss’ grip tightened on her pen. The thought of her body being tossed in a mass grave or something even worse… She wouldn’t have been the first without a proper grave. Almost everyone they had lost during the war didn’t have a grave. But it was different for Effie. She liked propriety so much that it simply didn’t feel… _right_.

 _“Yes._ ” Plutarch said sadly. “ _I know Haymitch is not very happy with me right now and I can understand why he…”_   The former Head Gamemaker stopped and sighed. _“I_ did _try my best.”_

She reached out for Peeta’s hand and remained silent for a long moment. Plutarch didn’t seem to mind.

“There must be survivors.” Peeta frowned. “Maybe we can ask them if they remember something or…”

 _“I tried that_.” Plutarch lamented when she had relayed the observation. _“Prisoners had little contact between themselves. The level she would have been kept in… It was cruelty at its finest. Complete isolation. I also interrogated the surviving Peacekeepers but those responsible for that particular level… They have all been executed or had already committed suicide before I got to them. None of them could tell me anything useful aside for the fact she_ had _been there at some point.”_

“And there weren’t any cameras or anything we could use?” she despaired.

“ _Not at that particular level, no.”_  Plutarch denied. _“Snow didn’t want any proof.”_

“But there _must_ be something else we can do!” she snapped. “Maybe the cameras on the other floors got something. Maybe if we could look at the prison’s security logs…”

 _“Katniss…”_  the Capitol sounded sorry, which really wasn’t what she was after.

“No.” She refused to accept that. She had promised herself she would give Haymitch closure and she _would._ “I need to find out what happened to her. It’s important. I want to check the security logs.”

 _“It won’t tell you anything useful.”_ the Secretary of Communication warned. “ _I looked everywhere for Effie Trinket, I swear. But if you must… All the activities regarding Snow’s administration have been classified but I can get Beetee access. Would that be suitable?”_

Beetee wasn’t her favorite person in the whole world. She blamed Gale for what had happened to Prim but Beetee was right behind him on her list.

Still, she could work with him. For Haymitch.

“Alright.” she agreed. “Tell him to call me as soon as he finds something. Thanks, Plutarch.”

 _“No thanks needed.”_  he promised. _“I take it Haymitch is not…_ recovering _from her loss?”_

That was Haymitch’s personal business and not something she would discuss with someone who wasn’t a part of their team. “We need to find out what happened to her.”

She left it at that.

 _“I hope you do.”_  Plutarch offered. _“She was an amazing woman.”_

“This isn’t going to be easy.” Peeta remarked, once she had hung up the phone. “But we really need to find out. Not just for Haymitch. She was… In those cells, she… She helped. I don’t remember everything but…” The crease was back between his eyebrows and she reached out to run the pad of her thumb on the crumpled skin, soothing it. He relaxed under her touch, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her on his lap. They hugged each other for a long time, his face buried in her neck. When he whispered, it was hollow, unsure. “She protected me, Katniss. Every time she could, she… She was so brave… I didn’t know anyone could be that brave.”

“We _will_ find out.” she promised. “And when we do… Maybe we should give her a grave.”

She didn’t care much about that sort of things.

Her father had been swallowed by the earth and there had been no body to bury. Prim… It hadn’t even been discussed. She didn’t think there had been enough left to…

She didn’t care about that sort of things but maybe it would help Haymitch to have somewhere to go to remember her, to talk to her.

Peeta had carved his brothers’, his father’s and his mother’s name on a brick in the new bakery and he always touched it when he walked past it. It seemed to bring him some comfort.

And Effie would have liked that. Something big and ridiculously expensive. 

“That would be nice.” Peeta nodded.

“We don’t tell Haymitch.” she warned him. “Not until we know for sure we can find out something.”

“Agreed.” Peeta breathed out against her skin, his lips moving in a caress that was also a question.

She granted her permission with a kiss.

And then she let him help her forget for a little while. She hoped she helped him forget too.

They didn’t hear from Three’s victors for days but they weren’t bad days. Since his breakdown, Haymitch seemed to be doing a little better, as if confessing out loud had lessened the pain a little.

Katniss let herself hope that it would stop the festering.

He still drank a lot but he made an effort to be mostly sober for dinners and he made an attempt at taking better care of himself. He still showered only every three days but it was better than the alternative. He didn’t have a great appetite either but he forced himself. One memorable morning, he even started cleaning around his house.

And then something went wrong.

Everything had been fine when she had left for her daily hunt. Peeta had been helping Haymitch by mopping the floors while their mentor gathered the various rubbish that had accumulated on every flat surface and tossed everything out. They had been chatting, laughing even… When she came back Haymitch’s house was deadly silent and Peeta was sitting on the old bench next to the front door, an odd look on his face.

“What happened?” she scowled. Because something obviously had.

“I shouldn’t have painted that portrait.” he sighed. “He put it in the study. We were cleaning, everything was fine, then he saw it and… We were joking. He saw it when we were joking. I think he felt guilty.” Because he had forgotten to feel sad for a couple of minutes. Katniss understood. It was worse after that moment of awareness. “He got angry.” Peeta explained. “Like… _Really_ angry. He kicked me out and then I heard him destroy everything inside. I waited until he was done. It didn’t seem… He had his knife, so…”

“You were right.” she approved. If he wanted to destroy his house, that was his problem, after all.

“I checked when the noises stopped.” he shrugged. “He didn’t even notice me. He was curled up in front of that stupid portrait… It was…”

 _Pathetic_ was the word they both thought and didn’t say because it wasn’t a nice word. It wasn’t meant with disdain though, with compassion rather.

“Do you think he’s okay now?” she frowned.

Peeta’s jaw clenched and he looked past her and into the street. “I don’t think so, Katniss. I don’t think he will be either. It’s… He lost a lot in his life. I think she might be the last straw.”

“He will bounce back.” she snapped because the alternative was too terrifying.

She wasn’t ready to lose Haymitch. Her father was dead, her sister was dead, her mother had run away because she couldn’t bear the thought of taking care of her… Haymitch was her constant. Haymitch stood by her no matter what. Haymitch was always there for her to crash to when she burned. Haymitch… Peeta was probably the love of her life and she needed him to move on, to grow old with her, to build her life with, to give her the will to get out of bed every morning. But Haymitch was the closest thing to a parent she had left and she wasn’t ready to let go of that just yet.

“He’s shattered, Katniss.” he said softly. “And he’s patching himself up with alcohol and cigarettes. It can’t end well.”

She refused to listen. She was so angry with him for even saying that out loud that she stormed away, stomping her feet and glaring at everyone who crossed her path. She ended up hiding in the pantry, curled up in one corner, watching Buttercup flick his bushy tail on one of the shelves. The cat was in a state of perpetual fury, just like she was.

Haymitch never showed up that night for dinner.

He never showed up in the next few days either. They carried food over, tried to cheer him up, but he had locked himself into an odd sort of mutism.

Katniss remembered only too well the thoughts that had haunted her when they had kept her in isolation for all those months after Coin’s death and she was watching him like a hawk, ready to intervene at the smallest hint he was going to hurt himself. The look he gave her sometimes was far too knowing and he often squeezed her shoulder as if to promise her he wouldn’t do what she was fearing. All of that was left unsaid and went on behind Peeta’s back. She didn’t tell him. She hadn’t told him about how much she had wanted to die either. _Yet_. She wasn’t sure she ever would though.

It took six more days for Beetee to finally call them.

“Did you find something?” she asked once they had exchanged awkward hellos. Straight to the point was best. Straight to the point was avoiding confronting him about creating the weapon that had killed her sister.

 _“Not on the prison footage or on the logs no.”_  Beetee’s quiet patient voice answered. There was an odd ticking in the background behind him. She pictured him in a workshop not unlike the one in Thirteen. Maybe he had one at home. That wouldn’t surprise her. _“Plutarch was right. It really seems like Effie vanished sometime between the victors’ rescue and the surrender.”_

“So you think they got rid of her body too.” she lamented, meeting Peeta’s eyes across the kitchen. He was baking, distractedly kneading some dough for the brioche he had promised her. “There’s no way to find out what happened to her, how she died.”

They had been right not to tell Haymitch, she thought. He would have been crushed again.

“We knew it was a long shot.” Peeta tried to comfort her, reaching out a hand covered in flour.

She grabbed it and held fast to it.

 _“There_ is _something weird…”_  Beetee hesitated. _“But I don’t want to get your hopes up, Katniss. It’s a little crazy.”_

She frowned. “What is it?”

 _“When I didn’t find anything on the footage or the logs… I checked the prisoners list again.”_   he explained. _“I’m not sure how much you know about how the taking of that prison went but… It was a bit chaotic. They evacuated all the wounded to a clinic on the edge of the city because all the hospitals were overwhelmed and it was the closest medical facility. A lot of prisoners didn’t make it and died before they could give their names but one of the medics had the idea of taking a picture of them so their friends and family could find them once everything calmed down.”_

Katniss’ throat closed, her heart started beating. “Did you find her picture?”

 _“No.”_  Beetee refuted. _“I suppose Plutarch and Haymitch already checked that.”_

Then why was he telling her this?, she raged, her face darkening. The thought of Haymitch looking at those pictures, sick with the dread of finding her, torn between hope that she was still alive and terror that her remains would never be found if her face wasn’t in there… Peeta wiped his hands and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned against him willingly, resting her forehead against his, shifting the phone so they could both hear what Three’s victor had to say.

 _“Something simply doesn’t add up.”_  Beetee insisted. _“She’s not on any dead  prisoners list. She’s not in the still unidentified pictures folder. And if she_ did _die between the rescue and the surrender like seems the most likely… I just don’t understand why Snow didn’t use it on Haymitch.”_  He paused for a second and then audibly winced. _“I assume you know about…”_

“Yes.” Katniss confirmed.

“ _Oh, good. Haymitch was always very private about that.”_  Beetee sighed. _“He always denied but… It was very obvious they were having some sort of affair. I know Chaff warned him more than a few times about…”_

“Maybe Snow didn’t tell him to let him wonder.” Peeta mused. “Because he knew it would end like this, with Haymitch fixating on it.”

 _“Psychological war at its finest.”_  Beetee agreed. “ _But the thing is… If we_ do _agree Effie died before we attacked the Capitol… They weren’t bothering to get rid of the bodies by the time we closed in on the city and before that… Before that, Snow would probably have liked to upset Haymitch because it was common knowledge he was amongst our chief tacticians. Either she died while the war was still in full swing and there is no good explanation for why he hasn’t used her death against Haymitch or she died closer to the taking of the Capitol and there’s no reason why we haven’t found her body.”_

“You’re not saying anything new.” Katniss complained. “She’s still missing.”

 _“Yes.”_  Beetee commented, almost with glee. _“Exactly. She’s_ missing _. So I stopped looking at the lists of dead prisoners and I started looking at the lists of survivors.”_

“You’re not serious.” she scoffed. “If she had survived…”

 _“Haymitch had given very strict instructions that if her name popped up anywhere, he was to be told at once and she was to be transferred to the Mansion.”_  Beetee confirmed. “ _And it never did so Plutarch and him had no reason to really take a good look at those lists.”_

“Are you saying…” Peeta frowned.

 _“I’m saying I found a Gail Abernathy on the survivors list from Darkhill.”_  Three’s victor offered.

They exchanged a look, both confused and uncertain.

“Abernathy is a common name though, right?” she asked.

 _“Yes.”_  Beetee approved. _“I checked. There are a lot of families with that name in Panem. Thing is though… There are no records of a Gail Abernathy being born before the war. And there is no mention of a Gail Abernathy in the prison’s logs. I checked deeper. Gail was Effie’s middle name.”_

Katniss’ breath remained stuck in her lungs. “You think she’s alive?”

 _“I_ said _it was a little crazy so don’t get your hopes up and don’t tell Haymitch until we’re sure.”_  Beetee warned. _“But… It’s the only place we haven’t looked yet.”_

“But why would she… Why would she do _that_?” Katniss snarled. “Haymitch’s barely hanging on and…”

“She spent months being tortured.” Peeta cut her off, gentle but firm. “We don’t know what they did to her. Maybe she’s like me. Maybe they took her memories or…”

 _“It’s a possibility.”_  Beetee admitted. _“It’s also possible she thought she was still in danger. By the time they took the prison… The Purge…”_

Katniss hadn’t been awake for that. She had been floating in a tank while her burned flesh regenerated enough that the doctors could do grafts. She had missed the bloodbath that had followed the taking of the city, the murders of Capitol citizens for the smallest offence, the trials and executions of Gamemakers, stylists, prep teams, hosts and, of course, escorts…

“Haymitch would have protected her.” she insisted.

“But would she have known that?” Peeta countered.

“She should have.” she retorted, protective of their mentor. Haymitch was literally _dying_ of having lost their escort and if it turned out Effie had been alive all this time after all…

“You don’t know what it’s like.” he whispered, closing his eyes. “You’ve been through a lot of bad stuff, Katniss, but you don’t know what _that’_ s like. You lose track of time after a while. The only thing that makes sense is your pain. The cell… It becomes your world. It’s… It’s impossible to understand if you haven’t been there. She kept saying…” The crease between his eyebrows and a flash of anger on his face. Katniss tensed, ready to bolt away if he had an episode, but she was wrong to worry. He was becoming better and better at controlling himself. “She kept saying Haymitch would come and they kept mocking her for it. _Abernathy’s bitch_. They called her…” He took a deep breath. “They told her Haymitch didn’t care and… And we were rescued and _she_ wasn’t. What if she thinks he really didn’t?”

 _She died thinking I didn’t care_. That was what Haymitch had said, wasn’t it?

Was it possible? That she hadn’t known they would stick up for her, that _the Mockingjay_ would stick up for her? Did she really think she would have let her be executed? But she had never been really nice with Effie, had she? They had never been close.

 _“It’s entirely possible she was confused and scared.”_  Beetee agreed.

“But that was almost a year ago!” Katniss argued, for the sake of it. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense that Effie wouldn’t have trusted them to protect her. 

 _“And they are still searching for the few former Games staff members who managed to escape before we took the Capitol.”_   Beetee pointed out. _“It’s on TV all the time. We’re talking about people who weren’t even currently involved in the Games anymore during the Quell,_ old _people. What do you think she thinks they would do with an actual active escort? She has no way of knowing Haymitch got her immunity.”_

“We need to find her.” Peeta decided. “We need to tell her she’s safe. I can’t… The idea that she’s still hiding because she’s scared…”

“We’ll find her.” Katniss promised, grabbing his arm. “If it’s her… We’ll find her.”

 _“According to the files I have, she was discharged against medical advice.”_  Three’s victor said. There was a clicking sound that Katniss supposed to be his fingers on a keyboard. “ _It took me a while, but I  found a Gail Abernathy in Eight. She’s working at one of the clothes factories. There are no picture though. I can’t confirm it’s her. And…”_  He sighed. _“I didn’t tell Plutarch. I don’t think it would go over well if we send someone she doesn’t trust. She could get spooked and disappear again, change names… There would be no way of tracking her then. Ideally, I would say Haymitch’s the best choice but…”_

“But we can’t do that to him if it’s not her.” Peeta finished.

“ _I really don’t think you should tell him until you’re sure either way.”_ Beetee confirmed. _“It might be a huge coincidence. I would go myself but… We were never close.”_

“Thank you for your help.” Katniss offered.

 _“No problem. Keep me informed, alright?”_  the other victor requested.

“We will.” Peeta promised.

Once they had hung up, the silence stretched long between them.

It was a lot to take in.

Katniss had been hoping for information on how she had died and where they might have put her body not… If she _was_ alive…

“She took his name.” she heard himself whisper. “If she doesn’t think he would help her why would she…”

“Because she loves him.” Peeta shrugged. “Knowing that someone doesn’t love you back doesn’t change your own feelings.”

There was an old pain lingering in his words and it hurt her.

“I love you.” she almost chided.

“I know.” he smiled. “But she might not.” He shook his head, looked at the dough abandoned on the kitchen table and licked his lips. “Alright. I will leave tonight.”

“No.” Katniss countered. “I’m the one who started this. I want to go.”

“You can’t.” he frowned. “You’re not allowed to leave the District.”

But she was already thinking about how to work around that.

“I will take the first train in the morning. Nobody will see me.” she decided. “You will distract Haymitch. And if someone asks, I’m hunting in the woods. I will find her and, if it’s her, I will bring her back. Either way, I will be back by the night train. We can get away with it.”

“It’s a _bad_ idea.” he insisted. “I know you want to do this for Haymitch but I can go without breaking the law and Effie would probably listen more to me anyway so…”

“I don’t want to do this only for Haymitch.” she cut him off. “I let her down too. I want to make it right. I’m going, Peeta. You stay here and make sure Haymitch doesn’t drink himself to death before I can get her back to him.”

Peeta kept arguing all night long but Katniss was nothing but stubborn and, the next morning, when dawn was barely peeking in the horizon, she boarded a train for Eight, the hood of her sweater low on her forehead.

She felt a little antsy leaving the District, not only because it was forbidden to her but because Twelve, for all the memories and the ruins, was her safe place. It was a four hours ride and she spent half of them pacing the length of the train’s corridors, trying to avoid looking directly at anyone in case they recognized her and alerted the authorities.

Eight was a lot different than she remembered. It wasn’t bombed into destruction for one. Like Twelve, it was still being rebuilt and construction crews were everywhere. She ate the sandwich she had brought along as she tried to find her way to the factory district, wondering how she was going to locate Effie in what looked like a anthill.

People strode in and out of different buildings with purpose.

She lurked around for what felt like hours. She was almost ready to give up and just ask whatever passed for a receptionist in those places if a Gail Abernathy worked there when she finally spotted her. Her gaze almost passed on her like it had glided over the dozens of people she had watched come in and out.

The woman was almost terrifying thin, _bony_ in a way that couldn’t be healthy. She was wearing drab grey shapeless pants and a faded blue woolen sweater under an open black coat that looked frayed and too big for her. She was leaning against the outer wall of the factory, a cigarette wedged between shaky fingers, her blue eyes lost somewhere in the cloudy sky. Her hair was a dark brown that made her features sharper.

The hair was why Katniss almost missed her.

She looked terrible. Just as terrible as Haymitch did.

And, just like that, Katniss stopped being angry about her letting them think they were dead. Whatever her reasons were, she clearly wasn’t happy in her new life.

Katniss strode closer with such purpose in her steps that the woman startled. “Effie.”

The cigarette fell from her fingers and a flash of panic dashed across her face before she got it under control. Polite disinterest. She ducked her head and tried to stepped around her. “You’re mistaken.”

The Capitol accent had been clipped and tamed into something resembling Two’s.

It seemed she was very good at pretending to be someone else.

“I don’t think so.” Katniss opposed, sidestepping in her way to block her retreat. She pushed her hood back and stared back when Effie gasped, relief and worry flashing in her eyes in quick succession.

Her former escort reached for the hood and quickly pulled it back over head, glancing around in frightened suspicion. Once she was sure nobody had seen Katniss’s face, Effie pulled her in a tight hug that left the girl confused. Still, Katniss hugged back.

It wasn’t so often friends came back from the dead, after all.

“You should not be here.” Effie murmured, slipping back to her Capitol accent in her franticness. “Are you even allowed to leave Twelve? I thought… On TV they said… Oh, you should _not_ be here, my dear. How did you even find me? Are there others? Are they looking for me? Is that why you came? To warn me?”

“Calm down.” Katniss ordered, tightening her embrace like she always did with Peeta when he started to get worked up. She waited until Effie’s breathing had gone back to normal to draw back. Now that she was closer, she could see the ravages the last year and a half had had on her. There were lines at the corners of her eyes, a tightness around her mouth, and she could see the tail-end of a scar curling over her shoulder. “Effie…”

“Gail.” the woman corrected with another frightened look around.

“It’s alright.” she said softly, like she would have with a wounded animal. “Nobody’s after you.”

Effie blinked and, just like that, Katniss could see her guard getting back up. “How did you find me?”

“Is there any place we can talk?” she deflected, glancing up at the sky. It looked like it would start to pour at any moment. “Maybe we can get something warm to drink.”

“My break is almost over.” Effie shook her head. “Katniss, I am _very_ glad to see you, particularly when you look so well, I am _happy_ you are so well, but…”

“Effie, we really need to _talk_.” she insisted.

Her escort studied her for a long time, closed her eyes and then sighed. “I suppose if you found me, others will follow anyway. I can’t stay here now. I need…” She shook her head again. “Wait here.” Katniss was a little worried to let her go back inside the big factory building in case she slipped away through the back door or something like that. But after a few minutes, she walked back out. “I told them I was sick and needed to go home. There’s a coffee shop around the corner.”

The changes in Effie Trinket were so obvious Katniss didn’t know where to start. The worst, by far, was when they settled at a small table inside the coffee shop and Effie discretely counted the money in her pocket before ordering the cheapest thing on the menu. Katniss resolutely ignored her irritated look when she corrected that order by requesting the waitress brought two hot chocolate and two pastries.

The waitress stared at her for a while but Katniss simply stared back, almost challenging the woman to ask her if she really was who she thought she was.

“How did you find me?” Effie repeated once they were alone again.

“It’s Beetee who figured it out.” she shrugged.

“I see.” the woman sighed, combing her fingers through her now dark hair in a nervous gesture. “Should I expect the new version of Peacekeepers to show up on my doorstep then?”

The fear was so obvious under the casual sarcastic attitude that Katniss reached across the table to cover her trembling fingers. She couldn’t tell if the escort was shaking because she was cold, afraid or if it came from something else.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you.” she promised, surprising even herself by the fierceness in her tone. “Is that why you faked your death? Because you thought the rebels were going to arrest you?”

Effie frowned but stayed silent, probably because the waitress had come back with their order. Again, the woman lingered, watching Katniss, the question clearly burning her lips but the joined glares they both tossed her were enough to convince her to leave.

The escort took a few sips of her chocolate before placing the cup back down on the saucer. Her hands were so unsteady that the porcelain clicked long and loud before she finally managed to put it down.

“I woke up in a clinic.” Effie explained. “It was… There were wounded people everywhere. People were _dying_ everywhere.” Katniss remembered the war hospital in Eight and could only nod, imagining only too well how it had been. The Capitol couldn’t have been in a better shape after the surrender. “I didn’t know where I was at first. I was… It took me a while to understand the questions, what had happened, to… Come back to myself, I suppose. But by that time… I saw the executions on TV. I saw… I knew they would want to arrest me too and… I couldn’t go back to prison, Katniss. I _truly_ couldn’t. The thought was unbearable. When they asked me my name again, I simply gave the first one that popped through my head.”

“Haymitch’s name?” she challenged a little. Effie blushed and avoided her eyes, focusing on the blueberry muffin she had ordered for her. Katniss watched her cut little pieces that she tried to eat delicately when it was so obvious she was starving… How much did workers make at that factory? “Haymitch can’t eat them anymore.” she said without really knowing why. And when Effie tossed her a confused look, she gestured at the pastry. “The blueberry muffins. He never eats them anymore.”

“They’re his favorites.” Effie argued.

“Yours too, right?” she retorted.

Blue eyes bore into hers for a second and then fled to the pastry again. “I _doubt_ that would matter much to him.”

“You’d be very wrong then.” she scoffed. “You know he’s been smoking? Your favorite brand or something. The drinking… I can’t even describe the drinking. He’s been torturing himself over your death for more than a year.”

“No.” Effie refuted. “He did _not_ care. He ran away and left me behind. He knew what was going on and he…”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” she cut her off sadly. “You were supposed to join us in Thirteen.”

“Then, why didn’t they take me with them when they rescued the victors?” she hissed. “I heard them pass by my door, you know. I called out. I…”

“They didn’t know you were there.” she interrupted again. “And… That was _my_ fault. I didn’t know you had been captured. I didn’t think to put you on the list. Haymitch has been looking for you since… I think he’s been looking for you since he realized you weren’t in Thirteen. He _loves_ you.”

That wasn’t her place to say it and it ended out sounding like a ridiculous argument, like something a child would have said, but she needed Effie to _understand_.

Effie’s jaw was clenched, she was breathing loud through her nose and her eyes were teary. “No.”

“You don’t have to live under a false name.” she continued. “He made sure you had immunity long before Coin started her Purge. He meant to protect you from the very start.”

“No.” Effie repeated, shaking her head.

“ _Yes_.” Katniss argued. “You’re safe. You’ve been safe all along.” The escort stood up abruptly, her thighs bumping into the table. It knocked over what was left of her chocolate. She was going to run away, Katniss could see it. But short of tying her up and dragging her back to Twelve against her will… “He’s still wearing your token.”

Effie’s breath was very labored, she was shaking all over now. “If this is true… Why didn’t he come himself?”

“I didn’t tell him you were alive.” she explained. “We weren’t sure it was you and if it hadn’t been… I think it would have killed him this time. He’s _really_ not okay. Losing you… It broke him.” She stood up too, reached for the woman’s wrist. “Effie, please… Come home with me.”

The escort stared at her. _Everyone_ in that coffee shop was staring at _them_. And for a brief moment, Katniss thought she had gotten through to her.

Then Effie bolted.

She had ran out the door before Katniss could do anything, far much faster than she would have given her credit for. She contemplated giving chase but… She couldn’t _force_ her to do anything.

She stepped outside under the heavy rain that was now slamming down on the paved streets and wasn’t entirely surprised not to spot any trace of her escort. She should have left Peeta do this, after all. He would have done it better. He would have explained better, convinced her, reassured her…

Katniss had never been good at coddling.

She wasted the whole afternoon walking around, getting lost only to find her bearings again, half hoping she would accidentally stumble on her escort… What she stumbled upon instead was a statue of herself. Bigger than life, a defiant tilt of the chin, bow strained, arrow notched… She knew it was her, or the Mockingjay rather, the war heroin they had all wanted, but she couldn’t recognize herself. The woman on that imposing base had little to do with her. There were no burn scars, no marked flesh, no singed hair…

She read the plate out of curiosity and felt sick when she realized where she was standing, what the statue was commemorating. _If we burn, you burn with us._ This was where the hospital used to be, where she had truly, for the first time, embraced what being the Mockingjay meant. 

The rain ran down the Mockingjay’s marble face but the statue wasn’t the only one crying.

She stood there for a long time, staring at the version of herself that would probably go down in history. Not quite a lie but an illusion. An appearance of unlimited strength and bravery, a nice invented love story that would turn into a legend, a martyr of a cause she had been forced into.

Eventually, when night started to fall, she made her way back to the train station. It was busier than Twelve’s was and she made sure her hood hid her face.

At least until she spotted the figure huddling against the station’s outer wall on the platform, trying to get shelter from the rain.

She hurried to Effie’s side, taking in the large travel bag at her feet. “Effie.”

Effie startled but relaxed when she saw it was only her. She even flashed her a smile. “Hello, dear. I apologize for earlier. My behavior was… quite rude.”

“It’s alright.” Katniss dismissed. “But you’re coming home, right?”

“I had an inkling you would take this train. It’s the perfect one when one wants to travel discreetly.” Effie evaded. “I thought I would catch you.” 

“You have a bag. You’re coming.” she insisted. “I know you are.”

“You keep saying _home_ but… Twelve isn’t _my_ home.” the escort opposed quietly.

“Sure, it is.” Katniss shrugged. “That’s where _we_ are.”

Effie studied her for a long time and then her lips stretched into a slow smile. “Does Peeta know?”

“Yeah.” she nodded, pressing against the wall in hope the small gutter on the roof would provide some shelter. Not unlike Effie, she was soaked to the bones. “He wanted to come, you know, but… I wanted to do it myself. He missed you. We _all_ missed you.”

“That’s… nice to hear if a little difficult to believe.” Effie chuckled, not quite amused.

“We made you a page. In our book.” she offered because she was starting to feel awkward. “I suppose we will have to tear it up now.”

“Your book?” Effie frowned.

By the time she was done explaining about the remembrance book – and Effie was done pretending not to be as moved as she actually was that she had been included in that – the train had arrived. Neither of them made a move to board it though.

“I never meant to hurt anyone.” Effie whispered. “I honestly did not think he would care, that _anyone_ would care. I went to check on my family after I left the hospital but…” The escort shook her head. “I had no one left. I did not know what else to do. I did not want to risk getting arrested again. I did not think he…”

“He will understand.” she promised and she hoped she wasn’t lying. “We’ll just explain it to him. I’m not sure he will even mind, you know. You’re here now, that’s all he will care about.”

“You are _awfully_ confident about Haymitch’s feelings.” Effie snorted. “I am not convinced he will be so forgiving.”

“He loves you.” she repeated and, again, it sounded like a weak argument, something feeble. Maybe because it didn’t mean much coming from _her_. “We all do. You can stay with us and be yourself again.”

“Being Gail was not so bad.” she sighed, bending down to pick up her bag. “Lonely, yes, but… I wouldn’t know how to be Effie Trinket again, I am afraid. Those butchers were a little too good at taking people apart.”

The escort flashed her a guilty look as if she hadn’t meant to say that much. Katniss didn’t even flinch though. She just offered her hand and waited for her to take it.

“We all changed.” she shrugged. “It’s alright. You’ll figure it out. We’ll help.”

Effie was still clinging to her fingers when they finally climbed on board. They found two seats in a mostly empty car near the back of the train and commandeered another two to leave their coats to dry. Effie was nervous and Katniss didn’t trust that she wouldn’t run again. She only relaxed once the train started rocking its slow way through the District.

They talked along the way. Effie asked about Annie and Johanna, smiled when she told her about the baby, confessed to having heard about Finnick’s death from the news… Katniss wasn’t much of a talker but there was something to that half empty car and its dimmed lights, to the darkness outside the windows and the miraculous presence of her escort, so she found herself talking. A lot. She told Effie about everything she had missed. The months in Thirteen, the Star Squad’s attack on the Capitol… Prim.

She had grown used to that new reality where her sister was dead but it never got any easier to say it. And she usually resented people trying to _relate_ , to tell her they understood, but when Effie wrapped her arms around her because she was choking on her own tears and told her in a quiet unsteady voice about her own dead sister, her own dead nephews and her own dead parents, she relaxed in her embrace like she relaxed in Peeta’s or Haymitch’s. Effie wasn’t a stranger. She was part of the team. She was family.

And the fact that she had thought necessary to hide from them was painful because they should have taken better care of her in the first place.

Katniss told her about burning alive, about Coin and the months that had followed. She didn’t tell her she still craved morphling from time to time but, somehow, she didn’t think she needed to.

The train was rushing through Ten when she told her about the life she and Peeta were building, about the slow work raising the bakery from its ashes and her daily hunts, about the house they had made theirs touch by touch, about the bedroom she wanted to paint green…

They had just left Eleven behind when Effie took a deep breath and asked about Haymitch.

Loyalty made the victor reluctant to confess everything because she was always fiercely protective of him. But she supposed Effie had seen him at his worst already so she ended up describing it like it was. She hadn’t meant to hurt the other woman’s feelings but by the time she was done, Effie was biting down on her bottom lip and silent tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“Stupid man.” she whispered.

“He believes you died thinking he didn’t care.” Katniss winced – because she knew he would probably have liked to tell her that himself. “He can’t live with that.”

“That’s the last thing he told me.” Effie explained, swiftly wiping her cheeks as if Katniss hadn’t seen. “ _Don’t go flatter yourself, sweetheart. It’s not like I care what happens to you._ I knew he was posturing. He always said that sort of things but then he would do something else that made me think he… I _thought_ I knew. After a while… I started believing _them_ instead. It seemed like they were right at the time. I did not know he was looking for me.” She sighed again. “ _Stupid_ man.”

“Love is weird.” she commented, thinking that Johanna had the truth of it.

“I suppose.” her escort laughed and, for the first time, it sounded genuine.

They were the only ones taking off in Twelve and it was completely dark by the time they started the long trip from the station to the Village. Katniss was used to walking around the District at night but Effie struggled on the uneven path. They both shivered in the freezing nocturnal wind, their coats not quite as dry as they would have liked.

“How do you want to do this?” she asked, as they were nearing the tall iron gates of the Village. “It’s late but I’m not sure he’s asleep yet. We can wait until morning… At least, there are more chances he will be sober.”

“I would like to get changed first.” Effie answered through chattering teeth.

Katniss wouldn’t have minded a hot shower herself.

It became clear that wouldn’t be happening in the immediate future as soon as they neared her house, though. All the lights were on, which wasn’t surprising given that Peeta was probably waiting for her, but she could hear raised voices from the gate. Or, rather, one raised voice. _Haymitch’s_.

“Where the _fuck_ has she gone, boy? Don’t make me ask again!”

Haymitch was screaming so loud he didn’t even hear the front door being unlocked and the two of them walking in. The voice was coming from the kitchen so Katniss headed straight there, annoyance bubbling in her stomach.

“I told you.” Peeta answered, far more calmly. “She just went on a hunting trip.”

“Do you think I’m _stupid_?” Haymitch spat. “Someone _saw her_ at the station. And lucky they told me instead of the Peacekeepers! She’s not allowed to leave! You two _fucking_ know that! You know what’s gonna happen if she gets caught out there? They’re gonna take her away. They’re gonna say I’m not fit to be her guardian and _they’re gonna take her away_.  Best case scenario they’re gonna stick her in an asylum somewhere. Worse case, she’s looking at life in prison.”

Their mentor, his back to the door, slammed his fist on the table just as Katniss rounded the corner. Peeta’s eyes immediately snapped up to hers – and quickly darted to the woman standing behind her – but Haymitch was oblivious, too lost to his helpless worried rage.

“Did she go after that mother of hers? Is that it?” he growled. “’Cause if _that_ ’s what she’s gone to do, she should just have _told me_. I’d have hunted Aster down for her, forced her back.”

Katniss had opened her mouth to alert him to her presence but she closed it again at that. Her mother? What would she have gone to fetch her mother for?

“What are you getting all teary about?” Haymitch snarled, clearly making an effort to calm down, apparently mistaking the tears in Peeta’s eyes for fear that Katniss _would_ actually be taken away. “Don’t… I’m sorry I shouted. We’ll make this right, yeah? Just tell me where she’s gone and I’m gonna go get her. Nobody the wiser. Where’s she gone, Peeta?”

“She came to find me.” Effie said behind Katniss, her voice echoing loud and clear in the otherwise silent kitchen.

Haymitch’s breath caught. The muscles of his back visibly tensed under his shirt.

But he didn’t turn around and he didn’t give any indication he had heard.

“Boy, I need you to tell me where Katniss is.” he repeated.

Peeta’s eyes traveled from Effie to him twice and he swallowed hard, his voice a little rougher than usual. “She just told you.”

“What?” Haymitch frowned.

Slowly, Effie dropped her bag and stepped past Katniss. She reached for his back with hesitant fingers. He flinched, his hands bundling into fists on the table, bowing a little as if to protect himself from an upcoming attack…

“Don’t have time for ghosts…” he muttered, almost too low to be heard – but the kitchen was so silent they would have heard a pin drop.

“I am real.” Effie whispered and, when he did nothing except shut his eyes tight, she forced his arm up. “I _am_ real, Haymitch. Touch me. See for yourself. Your hallucination are _never_ solid. They fade away. I won’t. _Touch me_.”

She guided his hand to her face and it was heartbreaking to watch him try to resist, to watch him refuse to look at her…

Katniss’ eyes were burning when he finally realized that he _could_ feel Effie’s skin under his palm, that she _was_ warm and alive and… _Real_. Slowly, she walked around them, giving them their space, to join Peeta who immediately opened his arms to her.

“You did it.” he whispered against her damp hair with some awe. “You _really_ did it…”

“Peeta…” Haymitch called with audible distress, his eyes snapping to where the boy stood. When he spotted Katniss in his arms, he fell short. He looked at Effie and then back at them…

“She’s real, Haymitch.” Peeta offered with a laugh that was only pure joy. “She’s _alive_.”

Effie flashed him a fond smile and, for a second, it looked like she would let go of Haymitch to hug him but she turned her attention back to their mentor instead, jutting her chin in the air almost in defiance. Her fingers were digging so hard in his wrist, Katniss was sure he would have bruises.

“It’s not…” Haymitch stuttered, his whole attention on Effie now. His face was crumpling, torn between hope and despair. “You’re _dead_. I’m… I’m going crazy. You’re _dead_.”

Effie shook her head and, without any warning, she burst into tears and tossed her arms around his neck. “I am so sorry! I thought… I didn’t know… I thought if they caught me… I should never have doubted you… I… I was so unhappy without you… I _missed_ you so much… I almost called you a thousand times… I thought it would be worth it just to… But I was too scared… I… I couldn’t risk being imprisoned again… I…”

As if on instinct, Haymitch immediately embraced her back, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. “Sweetheart…”

Effie was clinging to him, sobbing so hard Katniss was afraid she would never be able to breathe properly again. She clung harder to Peeta herself, knowing they should probably give their mentor and their escort their privacy but unable to move.

“You’re real.” Haymitch whispered softly, his nose bumping against Effie’s cheek. “You’re _alive_.”

The hand that was on the small of her back came up to frame her face. Katniss was sure what he wanted to do – and she was pretty sure she didn’t want to watch – but before he could initiate it, Effie was kissing him. _Hard_. And he responded to it with the same eagerness, the same despair…

They kissed each other as if they had run out of time although, to be fair, Katniss supposed they had just cheated fate so…  

Peeta laughed again. And while Katniss was glad to hear him sound so happy, she would have preferred not being forced to see… _that_.

It lasted for entire minutes, tongues were clearly involved, and it was starting to become really awkward when they finally separated, out of breath. They were both shaking, probably for different reasons. Haymitch tangled his fingers in Effie’s hair, guided her head until their foreheads were pressed together.

“I don’t understand.” he mumbled. “I’ve looked for you under every _fucking_ rock in the city. I’ve…”

“I didn’t know.” Effie whispered again, her voice raw. “I didn’t know I was safe. I thought…”

“You went into hiding.” he deduced, drawing back long enough to comb her dark hair thoughtfully, finally registering the color for the first time maybe.

“I am _so_ sorry.” she repeated, her eyes pleading. “I will understand if you hate me but…”

“ _Hate_ you?” he scoffed. “ _I’_ d get it if _you_ hated me… The whole mess was my own _fucking_ fault. You got hurt.”

He brushed a finger against the scar that was poking out of her sweater and the caress, while innocent, looked so intimate that Katniss had to look away.

“Katniss explained.” Effie denied. “I… I _am_ sorry. I _should_ have trusted you…”

“You had no reason to.” he snorted bitterly and pulled her back into his arms. “Doesn’t matter. You’re _fucking_ alive. That’s… _Fuck_ , sweetheart… I thought…”

“I know.” she offered, gripping his shirt so hard she bundled it, exposing a part of his stomach and the big swollen scar on his side.

“You’re wet.” he mumbled.

“Haymitch!” she exclaimed in shock, drawing back, her face crimson, her gaze drifting from him to where Katniss and Peeta were still hugging.

Katniss wished for simpler times when the double meaning would have been lost on her.

“No…” Haymitch chuckled – and how long had it been since they had heard him express genuine uncomplicated mirth? “Your coat.”

Effie blinked, grew even redder and tugged on his shirt so her coat wouldn’t be pressing against his bare skin anymore.

“Well. You are as insufferable as ever.” she huffed with fondness and finally turned toward them. “Peeta…”

Katniss wasn’t sure how it happened but before she could really figure it out, Peeta had let go of her and was hugging Effie hard. Haymitch hovered right behind their escort, clearly reluctant to be parted from her.

“I need a shower.” Katniss declared out loud. Not that anyone cared. Haymitch grabbed her arm when she walked past him and tugged her into a brief hug that conveyed more than words would have said. Still, she left them to their reunion, a bit exhausted by the eventful day.

The hot shower did her wonders but she didn’t feel the courage to go back downstairs so she put on her warmest pajamas and dropped on the bed. She was trying to find the will to wriggle under the quilt when Peeta walked in, carrying a tray with a mug of steaming tea and a few cookies on a plate. Her stomach rumbled.

“They’ve gone to Haymitch’s.” he told her, smiling when she immediately snatched a cookie. “Effie wanted dry clothes.”

“The way they were looking at each other, I’m not sure whatever’s happening involves a lot of clothes.” she muttered under her breath, making a face when images she really didn’t want in her head invaded her imagination. 

 “I guess they’ve got a lot of talking to do. Amongst other things.” Peeta joked, tugging on the loose braid she had tied her hair in. “She looks… She looks _alright_. Not really _good_ but…”

“She’s alive.” she shrugged. It was already a miracle. They couldn’t expect much more than that. “I don’t think she ever realized she was free. In her head… I mean… From what she said, the way she said it, the war might as well have ended yesterday.”

“Haymitch will help.” Peeta said wisely. “And she will help Haymitch. And _we_ can stop worrying.”

“And _you_ can start repainting the bedroom.” she grinned, taking a sip of the tea he had prepared to perfection.

“But plain green is boring…” he sighed. “I can paint you a forest. That’s still green but less boring. How about that?”

“Green or nothing.” she refused with amusement.

His hand wandered on her stomach and his mouth grew dangerously close to her ear. “Can I convince you?”

“You can try.” she offered, placing the mug on the bedside table before it got knocked over. Afterwards, once the tea had grown cold and they were spooning, skin against skin, his fingers tracing random patterns on her arm, she told him about the statue. “That’s who they all see but it was never me.”

Peeta said nothing for the longest time.

“I know you.” he murmured in the quiet of the night. “Real or not real?”

She thought back to the portraits secreted away in the cellar, to the one painting of her and her naked back nobody would ever see and she thought that, yes, he knew her.

“Real.” she promised.

“I love you.” he immediately offered with the certainty she could never put in her own love declarations. It wasn’t her love for him she doubted, it was the finality of it all, the trust that because she loved him everything would be fine. In her experience, it didn’t work like that.

They didn’t see Haymitch or Effie during a few days and they wisely didn’t go looking.

She heard shouting at some point, on her way back from a hunt. She wasn’t sure what it was about and she didn’t dare investigate. Let them work it out.

They called Beetee to tell him the news and then they called Plutarch – who was apparently already aware because Haymitch had called to make sure there would be no problem if Effie suddenly publicly came back from the dead.

“So Gail Abernathy has now been put to rest.” Effie concluded her explanation of how that conversation went, a few days later at dinner, after the two of them had finally exited Haymitch’s house. A house that had been scrubbed from floors to ceilings or so they were told – Katniss decided that explained the argument she had overheard.

They were both beaming so hard, it was hard not to exchange amused smiles with Peeta. Haymitch was grinning and didn’t even seem aware, he kept reaching out for Effie’s hand as if it was perfectly natural to do so… His eyes were a little bloodshot and the tremors in his fingers were telling though. Katniss didn’t believe he had cut off liquor completely but he had definitely cut his consumption down.

“It was a pretty name.” Peeta commented, passing the salad around.

“Yes… It was.” Effie sighed before cheerfully complimenting him on one of the artworks on the wall.

It was nice to have the whole team around the table for dinner, Katniss decided. Effie was much more subdued than she used to be. She was still ridiculous at times but less… over the top.

They moved on to the living-room for dessert and Effie offered to bring it since they had done all the cooking. Haymitch stayed behind with her in the kitchen to help – or so he claimed. Katniss didn’t mean to intrude, she had just gone back to the kitchen to fetch her glass of water.

Haymitch had his arms around Effie’s waist, her back to his chest, and he was nuzzling her neck. She was telling him to stop because she was trying to cut in equal pieces the cake Peeta had baked but she was also giggling a lot so it wasn’t that convincing.

“You like my name so much, Princess… Why don’t you keep it?” he muttered casually, against the curve of her nape.

Katniss went rigid and slowly stepped back before she could be noticed.

“What?” she heard Effie ask anyway, her voice now free of any form of amusement.

Katniss hurried away before she could overhear any more of that proposal.

“Everything’s okay?” Peeta asked when he saw her return without the water she had gone to fetch.

She muttered something that left him frowning.

It was really nice to be all together again though. It felt like a real family. Instead of disturbing their routine, Effie fitted right in. She made everything… Strangely _complete_.

Katniss had gone looking for their lost escort and she had unknowingly found the missing piece to their bizarre team.

Or maybe it was just her getting even more crazy, Katniss mused later, once Peeta and Effie had claimed the kitchen to do the dishes and she was trudging to the shed in the small coat of snow to get more logs for the fire.

She wasn’t entirely surprised to feel another presence behind her in the night.

“You don’t have to lurk like a creep, you know.” she snorted.

Haymitch rolled his eyes, grabbed an armful of chopped wood and shrugged, straining under the weight. “Never really said _thanks_ , yeah?”

“It’s fine.” she dismissed.

“No, it ain’t _fine_.” he scoffed. “If you hadn’t gone snooping… I’d never have known. _She_ ’d never have known.  Look…”

“Haymitch.” she cut him off. “We’re family, we’re all together and nobody’s letting themselves die. That’s all the thanks I need.” He studied her for a long moment and then finally nodded, more understanding than she liked. She swallowed the lump in her throat and attempted a mocking tone. “So? Do you need bread?”

It took a few seconds for him to connect the dots. He groaned. “Eavesdropping again, yeah? Nasty habit that, sweetheart.”

She scowled at him as they made their way back to the house. “It’s not my fault if you were all over your girlfriend in my kitchen.”

“Ain’t my _girlfriend_ , don’t be stupid. We ain’t sixteen.” He made a face as if the term physically pained him. “Don’t go calling her my _fiancée_ either.”

“But is she?” Katniss insisted.

“She’s…” he hesitated and then snorted. “She’s _everything_. Don’t need to toast bread to know that. But… Yeah. _Yeah_.”

Katniss smiled so wide it almost hurt. She bumped her shoulder against his but she didn’t try to offer congratulations that would embarrass them both.

She didn’t need to say anything though.

Haymitch always got it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… This was supposed to be a bonus scene because I reaaaally wanted to write the private reunion between hayffie (and I was encouraged to do so by various people on tumblr) but it got away from me? Like… Very badly. It would be more accurate to say it slipped from my hands at the top of the stairs and I found it back twenty-nine floors down a fully developed one shot almost as long as the original story.
> 
> What can I say, I’m sorry.
> 
> Please, mind the change in rating and I hope you enjoy this bonus “scene”. *Clear throat*

A hand gripped her shoulder and she startled, whirling around to face the threat, her heart hammering in her chest. It was only when she caught sight of Haymitch’s sad but resigned expression that she relaxed and blinked, taking in the hallway of his house that didn’t seem to have changed at all since the Quell. She also realized he had called her name twice in as many minutes when all she had done was stand there and stare at the familiar clutter.

Her name.

_Effie_.

She wasn’t used to it anymore. She had buried it deep when she had decided to run, she had shattered it when she had dyed her hair brown, she had put it to rest when she had started forcing herself to use Two’s accent to disguise her own.

She had woken up Gail Abernathy that morning and now she was Effie Trinket again and she didn’t know how to reconcile the two. She had always been good at living a lie. Being Gail… Being Gail hadn’t been so bad. On good days, she had even managed to convince herself that the back-story she had invented was true. On bad days…

“Your coat?” Haymitch hesitated because she was now staring at him.

She licked her lips and shed her coat, wondering why everything seemed so awkward and complicated all of a sudden. It hadn’t been like that in the children’s kitchen. She had been… She had felt _in control_. She had been the one to convince him she was real, to initiate kissing, to…

She watched him hang her wet black coat to the rack next to the front door with nervous jerky moves. He was still clutching her duffel bag to his chest, as if holding her belongings would be enough to keep her there.

Not that she wanted to run.

Did she?

When she had first seen Katniss… A part of her had been waiting for this since she had left that clinic. To be recognized. To be called out. To be tossed back in a cell. That same part couldn’t help but think that maybe she belonged there, that it was a just punishment for years of bringing children to their death. Another part always whispered that it would be easier anyway – let herself be captured, tried, executed – easier than the endless flee, than begging for work and slaving away in that factory…

“You’re okay?” Haymitch asked softly, carefully reaching for her face. His fingers brushed against her cheek in the lightest of caress and she finally expelled the breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“Yes.” she promised. “My apologies. It… It was an odd day.”

“I bet.” he snorted with that touch of sarcasm that usually tore a smile out of her – at least when it wasn’t directed _at_ her.

And just like that she remembered why she didn’t want to run away again. Why she didn’t _need_ to.

She took a step forward and he immediately opened his arms, holding her tight to his chest, pressing his face against her neck… His hands fisted the shirt at her back. He was shaking, more vulnerable than he wanted her to know, and she closed her eyes, resting her whole weight against him, clinging to his shoulders.

What a pair they made…

“I missed you.” She rushed the words out. She had already said them but they needed to be said again. Several times probably. “And I _am_ sorry. Do you believe me?”

“Honestly, sweetheart, I don’t really care.” he muttered against her skin. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

“For now.” she sighed, too pragmatic not to know the tide would turn at some point and the anger would come. “But in a couple of hours or days…”

“Effie.” he scoffed. “I thought you were _dead_. I grieved. Well… I did a botched job of that but… I’ve never been very good at grieving, to be fair.”

“An understatement.” she joked even if it wasn’t funny. He had spent twenty-five years mourning his family in a desperate attempt at keeping them alive a little longer in his memory. He had built such a shrine to his dead girlfriend in his mind that…

She knew just how deeply Haymitch could love.

She just had never believed that it could be directed at her…

“I won’t get angry in the morning.” he swore. “You did what you thought you had to do to survive. That’s smart. Can’t blame you for not trusting me. Not after what happened.”

“Katniss explained.” she offered again. The girl’s explanation hadn’t been as thorough as she would have liked but there would be time for that. It was enough for now that he had never intended for her to be left behind, that he had wanted her with him from the start, that he had made plans no matter how awry they had gone. “It was not your fault.”

“Yeah, it was.” He shook his head, his hair tickling the delicate skin under her jaw. “Should have listen to my guts. Keep you with me instead of trusting Plutarch.”

“Alright. Then… I forgive you.” she whispered. “ _I forgive you_. Is that enough?”

His breath stuck in his throat and the trembling increased so badly she thought he would break down. He drew back a little instead, bumped his nose against her cheek before bringing his mouth to her ear. “Don’t blame you but I forgive you too. If that’s what you need to hear.”

She slid her hand to his nape. “Thank you.”

He searched her eyes for a second, forced a pitiful attempt at a smirk and brushed her hair back over her shoulder with a tenderness he had rarely shown before. He was looking at her as if he still couldn’t believe she was there and it broke her heart.

“We should get out of the hallway.” he remarked, adjusting his grip on the duffel bag he had never dropped in all that time.

“Oh… yes…” She chuckled and it startled her because she couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed. “It’s cold, is it not?”

Now that his arms had fallen away from her, she could feel the chill in the air and the damp legs of her pants weren’t helping.

“The fire must have died out.” he shrugged, glancing in the direction of the living-room. “You want to… You want to get change or…”

“Yes.” she nodded and it became awkward again because neither of them actually moved.

Truth be told, she was a little terrified to be alone again after all that time on the run. She had been scared out of her mind when she had gone to the train station to wait for Katniss, scared to face a life she had thought she had left behind for good, scared of Haymitch’s reaction… Scared because her feelings for him had never faded or died when she had thought he had abandoned her and used her and she wasn’t sure what it made of her as a person. And now she was terrified because it was so obvious she had been wrong to doubt. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her… It was written in his every move and…

She had forgotten how complicated Effie Trinket’s life was.

Gail Abernathy’s was very simple in comparison.

With fingers more unsteady than she would have liked, she reached for the strap of her bag. He didn’t relinquish it at once. When she  lifted her eyebrows in a silent question, he averted his eyes, shook himself out of his own thoughts and mumbled something about tending to the fire. Still, she felt his gaze on her when she headed to the stairs and she was well past their middle when he finally stepped into the living-room.

The first floor was completely dark and she hurriedly felt around for the light switch, always nervous in darkness now. She couldn’t bear the memories that came with it. Once the old light bulbs flickered on, she found herself wavering at the top of the stairs. The guest room, she knew, was to the right but Haymitch’s bedroom was to the left. Was it presuming too much to put her bag in his bedroom or…

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, undecided, but something clattered in the living-room downstairs and, immediately after that, there was a loud frantic stomping coming up the stairs. She turned in time to see Haymitch’s panic face. It morphed to relief when he spotted her and before she could ask what was wrong, she was pulled into a tight, almost suffocating hug.

“Sorry. Sorry…” He repeated it a few times, so low and hurried it was almost incomprehensible.

She frowned but embraced him back. “Haymitch?”

“Couldn’t hear you anymore… Hold house. Floorboards creak. But I couldn’t hear you anymore.” he whispered, pain and dread lacing his voice.

“I was… I was trying to decide if you wanted me in your bedroom or…” she awkwardly explained. Haymitch had always had particular rules about her sleeping with him. They had relaxed them a little during the Tour but she knew he always preferred to sleep alone because of the night terrors, because of the trust required to let someone into one’s bed. She wasn’t entirely sure _she_ was ready for that right now either, to be honest.

“Yes.” he answered without a second of hesitation. And she supposed that settled that. He squeezed her harder to the point it became uncomfortable and she ran his hands on his back, the strap of the duffel bag slipping off her shoulder and to the crook of her elbow, not quite heavy enough to hurt. He rested his cheek against her temple and let out a long breath. She could feel his racing heart against her chest. “Couldn’t hear you anymore…”

“I won’t sneak out and flee into the night, you know.” she offered and she found she was sincere. _Home,_ Katniss had said. _Home_. Such a small word for something so big. The girl had been right however. Not because Twelve was familiar territory but because _they_ were. Her victors. Holding Peeta in her arms, having such an open conversation with Katniss on the train, kissing Haymitch again… All that felt like home to her. _Right_ in a way nothing else could ever hope to be.

“I had that dream before.” he confessed, burying one of his hands in her hair, combing it like he used to do. It was soothing and not just to her. “Sometimes when I’m very drunk I see you. It’s… I thought…”

“You thought I was an hallucination.” she deduced, shifting so she could press her forehead against his. “Haymitch, I am real.”

The kissing was desperate but she surrendered to it without a second thought, tangling her fingers in his hair, vaguely thinking it urgently needed to be combed… She guided his head the way she wanted it, deepened the kiss… He was the one who made it messy with that dirty trick of the tongue she had taught him long ago.

Kissing him was like breathing and she didn’t know how she had survived without it for so long.

His hands were busy on her back. One of them was groping her, kneading what meager flesh was left on her ass, pressing her against his growing arousal, the other slipped under her shirt, brushed the mangled skin of her back…

She broke the kiss with a breathless gasp. “Slow down.”

It wasn’t a request and he immediately took both hands away to place them safely on her hips.

“Sorry.” He pecked her mouth, far more subdued. “Sorry.” She leaned in and nibbled on his bottom lip until he let her kiss him properly again. It didn’t get out of control though, he made sure of it. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.” he murmured between two kisses. “We don’t have to do anything _at all_. Just want… I need to hold you, yeah? That’s alright? Just hold you. I need…”

“I didn’t say I did not want to.” she retorted against his lips. “I said _slow_ _down_.”

“Slow down.” he repeated flatly as if the words had little meaning to him – but that might have had to do with the nails she trailed down the side of his neck at that moment. “Slow down. Can do that.”

“I really need to get out of those clothes.” she insisted, stepping back with some regret. The dove grey shapeless pants and the faded blue woolen sweatshirt were making her skin _itch_. It was all in her head, of course, because she had worn them countless times before but those clothes… Those clothes belonged to Gail and Gail didn’t belong in Haymitch’s arms.

“Won’t ever hear me complain about you taking off your clothes, Princess.” he teased with just a touch of uncertainty. Not sure if it was welcomed yet, perhaps.

Her lips stretched into a smile. “I thought not.”

It was a bit scary how quickly she had reverted back to her Capitol accent when Two’s had become such a natural speech pattern. She wondered at how quickly she had discarded Gail. As if the last year hadn’t happened at all. As if… She thought about what she was carrying in her bag, the pants and shirts each plainer than the last, and she concluded that she didn’t want to wear them anymore. They were her disguise. District clothes. Another mask to hide behind. She had no uses for masks with Haymitch. Not anymore. He was too good at seeing through them anyway.

She had little money, the train ticket had eaten her savings, and she wasn’t sure how she would be able to get herself another wardrobe but she would think of something. She would find another job or… She would think of something. If she was to be Effie again, she needed to look the part, to _feel_ the part.

“Do you mind if I borrow a shirt?” she asked.

His grey eyes darted to the bag they had both be clutching in turn like a lifeline but didn’t comment or ask questions. He just nodded his assent and placed a hand at the small of her back to guide her in the direction of his bedroom.

It was a mess but nothing she hadn’t expected.

Dirty clothes littered the floor and it was sweet that he immediately hurried to pick them up – not because he cared but because he knew _she_ would. The bed was unmade, the sheets creased, a bit dirty and twisted together… There were empty bottles on the dresser and the nightstands… It didn’t smell _that_ bad, considering, so she supposed he must, at least, air the room from time to time.

She placed her bag on the frayed armchair next to the window, careful not to crush the book propped open on the cushion.

“There’s a dressing table in the guest room…” he said, opening a drawer and discreetly sniffing a few shirts before handing her one. “I’ll move it in here tomorrow, yeah? So you have your own space for your beauty stuff.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t own any anymore. She had an eyeliner pencil she rarely used because it didn’t fit Gail, a cheap tube of pale pink lipstick and a roll-on deodorant that smelt like chemical vanilla. She didn’t even own a single bottle of perfume.

“Thank you.” she smiled.

“I’m gonna make the bed while you get changed. I think there are clean sheets in the other room.” He looked so desperate to please her, so desperate to convince her to _stay_ even though she had no intention of leaving, that she smiled and pressed a soft kiss on his mouth.

“I will leave the bathroom door open so you can hear me.” she offered.

His shoulders slouched a little with relief. “Take your time, yeah? If you want to take a shower or whatever…”

“Are you saying I smell bad?” she huffed, more amused than offended. After half a day at the factory and the hours spent on that train with Katniss, she didn’t doubt she smelt half as bad as he did.

“I’m saying you look like you’re freezing and hot water can’t hurt.” he replied, the picture of honesty. If only she didn’t know him better than that…

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Smooth save, Haymitch.”

He hesitated for a second and then rolled his eyes, a smirk stretching his lips. “I try.”

She grabbed her toiletry bag while he went to fetch clean sheets and she disappeared in the bathroom. True to her promise, she left the door slightly ajar.

She lost no time getting rid of her clothes and the temptation of a hot shower was actually too powerful to resist so she looked around the cabinet for a towel that didn’t look _too_ stained. If she was to stay, some things would have to change, she decided, and the first order of business would be to clean the whole house, toss out what was too damaged to be of use and buy some new clean towels. She couldn’t live without proper towels. Eventually, she located a green one that didn’t look in too bad a shape and she placed it on the sink to use once she would be done.

“Effie?” Haymitch called from the other room. His tone aimed for calm but she heard the hint of fright all the same.

“Your towels are atrocious.” she replied, stepping into the shower stall. “And why do they come in so many colors? Color unity is key to house design, you know.”

She heard the echo of his laugh, as she had intended, and her lips twitched.

“Tell you what, I’m gonna take you to the shop. You can go crazy with the towels.” he shouted back. “We probably need new sheets too ‘cause I’m pretty sure you’re gonna say those are good for the bin.”

_We_ , she smiled as she turned on the water. She didn’t know if that _we_ terrified her or thrilled her. A little bit of both perhaps.

She almost choked on the lump that appeared in her throat when she used his shower gel. The smell was so familiar, brought back so many memories, made her feel so… _safe_. That was something she had always associated with Haymitch: safety. His embrace… there was no safer place than that.

That was why it had hurt so much to come to believe he had left her behind to be torn apart.

 She stepped out of the shower and avoided her reflection in the mirror over the sink as had become second nature in the months since she had left the clinic. She didn’t let herself think about her body, how unappealing and damaged it had become. She wrapped herself in the slightly rough towel and brushed her wet hair until it hung smoothly over her shoulders…

“Haymitch?” she asked when she realized it had been a while since she had heard him move in the bedroom.

“Yeah?” he answered, sounding a little weird.

She toweled her hair dry quickly, slipped on his shirt, brushed her teeth in record time and grabbed the hairdryer she had located earlier before stepping out of the bathroom. The bed was now made and the room had been superficially cleaned of most of the bottles, empty mugs and dirty clothes. Haymitch was sitting in the armchair, her open duffel bag on his knees, the soft fabric clenched in his fists.

He hadn’t been snooping, she understood at once, he was clinging to it because it was tangible proof the whole thing was real.

The duffel bag was discarded as soon as he caught sight of her. His grey eyes traveled along the length of her bare legs and she jutted her chin a little higher because she knew some of the scars were probably poking out. If he noticed, he didn’t let on.

The hunger in his eyes…

She had missed this, the spark of desire that usually left her trembling before he had even touched her…

“Perhaps you should get ready for bed too.” she suggested, her voice strangely strangled.

His gaze slowly trailed back up her legs and all the way to her face. He licked his lips but wordlessly nodded, willing to go along with whatever she wanted. He wouldn’t touch her until she asked, she realized, no matter how much he wanted to.

And she _wanted_ to ask.

But it looked like he had been wearing that shirt for days and she knew just how sparingly he bothered to wash when he didn’t have incentive to do so. All the more so when he was in one of those bad spells that left him drowning in a bottle without any will to do anything else. It might have been shallow but she didn’t want their first time after so long and so much heartbreak to be clouded by the natural smell of unwashed skin. She had a problem with strong unpleasant smells nowadays. It triggered flashbacks she could live without.

He paused when he walked past her, cupped her cheek and stole a kiss that wasn’t quite insistent but that conveyed without doubt just how much he wanted her. “Won’t be long.”

She grabbed his wrist before he could move away, kept his hand in place. “I am not… You should know I am not…”

He frowned a little and brushed his thumb against her cheekbone, looking a little guilty. “I meant what I said, sweetheart. We don’t have do to anything. Can’t lie and say I don’t want to ‘cause… Well, bit obvious I do, yeah? But… I can wait. When you’re ready…”

“It is not _that_! Would you _stop_ interrupting me? You are _always_ so rude.” she snapped and then huffed in annoyance.

Unfortunately, it only seemed to amuse him.

“Still so feisty.” he snorted and he sounded pleased about it.

She pursed her lips and averted her eyes. “I am not exactly beautiful anymore.”

“ _Bullshit_.” he scowled, moving his hand to finger a strand of her hair. “Sure, I miss the blond hair but… Doesn’t look that bad… And it’s gonna fade at some point, yeah? Go back to blond?”

She was stunned for a second because, there she was, telling him she didn’t look like she used to, no longer the fashion goddess who had brought the Capitol to its knees but an underweight little thing with scars he couldn’t _not_ guess at given that his shirt was sliding down one of her shoulders, and his mind jumped to her hair. _Her hair_. It was so typical of him to focus on her hair color that she snorted once and then chuckled because… It was ridiculous.

And he looked far too smug for it to be accidental.

“I can always dye it back if you miss it that much.” she offered once she had her breath back.

“I miss _you_.” he shrugged with some embarrassment and a raw need that tugged at something deep in her guts.

“I am not sure I am the same _me_ I used to be.” she confessed.

“We’re all a little bit broken around here, sweetheart.” he wisely reminded her. “But we’re all very good at surviving, yeah? Together.”

“Together.” she breathed out with a small smile. “I like that.”

“Good.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. “’Cause now that I’ve got you back, I’m not letting you go again.”

It was very cheesy and very much not him and it gave her a good idea of just how much he had suffered when he had believed her to be dead. She gently pushed on his chest before he could deepen the kiss and she let herself be swayed into forgetting she wanted him to be clean. “Go shower.”

“Bossy.” he complained.

“You love it.” she accused.

In the past, he would have argued the point but, right then, he simply pressed another long peck against her mouth and moved into the bathroom. He left the door wide open and she made sure she was in his line of sight when she plugged in the hairdryer.

She watched him brush his teeth and he watched her dry her hair. It was weirdly domestic but natural at the same time.

Eventually, though, his teeth were very clean and her hair was very dry and they had no more excuse to keep staring at each other. He took his clothes off and tossed them in the vague direction of the overflowing clothes hamper, his grey eyes never wandering away from her. She stood there and watched, her heart racing in her chest for more agreeable reasons than usual.

He had lost a lot of weight, she couldn’t help but notice, not unlike her. She could have counted his ribs if she had been so inclined. His chest though… So familiar… The tanned skin calling her name, the pale hair begging to be stroked, the scar on his side begging to be kissed, the pert dark pink nipples begging to be sucked, the darker patch of hair on his lower belly begging to be nibbled on…

And then the pants and underwear were gone and she barely registered the strong thighs that used to look firmer or the weird-shaped toes she had always been fascinated with because her gaze was glued to the part of him that wanted to be _worshiped_. He was half hard, jutting out proudly in front of him, and she couldn’t help but lick her lips, remembering just how much she loved taking him into her mouth, bringing him apart with her tongue… How much more she loved having it inside her. She remembered the weight, the taste, the length with precise accuracy…

And she wanted it.

She wanted it very badly.

Whatever reassurance he had been searching for with that little striptease, he seemed to have found it in the instant lust that must have flashed on her face because he smirked and stepped inside the shower without another word.

She wasn’t sure what to do with herself so she busied herself trying to find a drawer to put her clothes in. As much as she didn’t want to wear them again, it would be some time before she could afford something else.

She wasn’t sure what kind of system Haymitch was using when it came to tidying – she suspected he used none – but she found a lot of things in the drawers that didn’t belong in a bedroom’s dresser. Candles amongst them.

She recognized two or three lavender scented ones that had once belonged to her and she briefly wondered if he had snatched them during the Games – and why – before deciding it wasn’t really important. The other ones looked handmade, plain white wax that must have come from somewhere in Twelve.

She wasn’t against the scent of lavender and she wasn’t against dimming the lights so she went to work quickly, placing them all around the room, making sure none of them were too close of anything flammable. She used the cheap plastic lighter that had replaced her now lost silver one and then tossed it back in her bag before switching off the lights just as the sound of running water stopped in the bedroom.

“Effie?” he asked. She wasn’t sure if it was because he needed reassurance that he wasn’t dreaming or because of the sudden change in luminosity.

“Yes.” she answered and nervously sat down at the foot of the bed. It looked pretty she decided. Candlelight was good. It was romantic, which should ease things and made them a little less awkward, and it might help hide _some_ of the damages on her body. At least, she hoped so.

His head poked out around the doorframe, his grey eyes took in the over-the-top amount of candles and settled on her. “You’re alright?”

She pondered the question for a moment and then smiled. “Strangely enough… Yes.”

He studied her for a second and then acknowledged that with a nod. “We can’t sleep with those candles, sweetheart, ain’t really safe. I can leave the bathroom light on, though. With the curtains open, it’s not that dark at night.”

He had his own fear of darkness, she suddenly remembered. How alike they had become…

“I do not want to sleep.” she denied, patting the bed next to her.

He didn’t immediately move and she blushed, feeling self-conscious. It had never been that difficult before. Sex, if anything, had been the easiest part of their relationship. But he was still adjusting to the fact she wasn’t dead and she was still trying to come to terms with the fact she was Effie Trinket again. She wanted him, though. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted him. Her body was already aching for his. She had missed him so much, _too much_.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough. “’Cause as much as I want to be the good guy here, Princess, if we start something and you change your mind I ain’t sure I can stop.”

That was the difference between them, then. She was very certain he would stop at the smallest hint she was uncomfortable, no matter how far into it they were. That was just who Haymitch was. The same way she had never slept with him when he had been too drunk to know what he was doing, he had always placed her consent above everything else. He had never really asked before taking but when she had said no, he had always respected it and never pressured her – unlike others.

“Do not make me ask again. It is not good for my ego.” she joked.

“Your ego’s so big it won’t suffer much.” he mocked, dropping the towel he was still holding on the armchair and making his way to the bed.

Candlelight was a good light for him, she decided.

Shadows flickered on his naked body and she held her breath once he was standing in front of her. She let it out against his thigh, pressing her forehead against his hipbone, her eyelids shut tight. “I missed you. So much. It hurt to stay away. I wanted to get in touch with you. You have no idea the number of letters I wrote and burned. But every time I thought… If anyone found me out… What they did to the other escorts… I couldn’t risk it, Haymitch. If you hadn’t been willing to help me… Being trapped between four walls again… I _couldn’t_.”

She felt his fingers toy with her dark curls, then his hand cradled the back of her head and she looked up at him to find his grey eyes a little shiny in the ever-changing light of the candles’ flames. Slowly, he placed a knee on the bed and, when she didn’t protest, he put the other one on her other side, straddling her but not putting any weight on her lap. He towered over her, her head held so preciously in his hands it brought tears to her eyes.

“I thought you were dead.” he said quietly, not bothering to hide the pain in his voice. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d never see you again.”

It was nothing they hadn’t already established but she still felt his distress acutely. Tears escaped her eyes, rolled silently down her cheeks. “I’m sorry… I’m…”

“No.” he cut her off, wiping the tear tracks with his thumb. “Just… Just listen, sweetheart.” He tilted her head up, his eyes roaming on her face with something akin to despair. Taking her in. “Losing you… It nearly _killed_ me. Wanted to _die_.”

She closed her eyes, unable to _hear_ that. “Haymitch…”

If anything had happened to him, if he had hurt himself because of _her actions_ …

“You don’t get it.” he grumbled awkwardly. “Ain’t saying it to hurt you. I just… Thought you died thinking…”

“That you did not care.” she finished. “Katniss mentioned.”

He winced. “Yeah? Not hers to say.”

“It does not matter.” She shook her head. “What I thought in those cells, what I came to believe… I was foolish. I know the truth now.”

“Do you?” he challenged with a small snort. “’Cause I haven’t said it yet.”

“I do not need you to say it.” she countered. “I know you care.”

“I don’t _care_.” he growled, leaning down until he was more or less sitting on her lap and his face was right against hers, his lips hovering over hers… “I… I…”

“I know.” she whispered because she _did_. She hadn’t completely believed Katniss when the girl had said it but she did now. If only because he was completely naked except for a battered gold bangle around his wrist. 

“I want to _say_ it.” he scowled with an irritation that was more directed at himself than at her. “I had no problem saying the words when you were _dead_ and _now_ …”

He breathed out loudly and the strong smell of his peppermint toothpaste tickled her nostrils. 

“I was never dead, Haymitch.” she reminded him. “This is not a miracle.”

“It is to me.” he spat. “Even if you weren’t really… You could have… You could have stayed away. But you came back.”

“You made sure I was safe, I had no reason to stay away anymore.” she countered, framing his face with her hands, brushing her lips against the line of his jaw. “It is over now. Everything… I finally feel like I can breathe.”

“You came back to me.” he whispered again with something akin to awe.

“Don’t I always?” she teased, guiding his head back so she could plant a kiss on his lips.

The look in her eyes told her _not always_. Because he had thought she wouldn’t. Because he had waited and searched and lost hope. Because he wasn’t good at hoping in the first place when she wasn’t there to do it for him, _with_ him.

She lied down on the mattress, her hands trailing down his shoulders, down his arms, until her fingers entwined with his. He looked down at her from his straddling position, emotions warring in his gaze. Lust, tenderness, _love_ …

She brought his hands to her chest and it was the only hint he needed. She expected him to rip the shirt open because that was what would have happened before but he unbuttoned it slowly instead, brushing his knuckles against her skin between each button and, when he was done, he parted the shirt as if he was uncovering a treasure.

She stared at the ceiling when he finally saw her in all the glory of her decline, too aware of the patch of burned scar tissues above her hip and of how bony she was, too aware that her breasts were sagging and barely existent, too aware she was so underweight she looked like a corpse, too aware he could guess at the scar on her shoulder and that the one on her thigh was exposed, too aware it wouldn’t take long for him to find out the ones crisscrossing on her back.

His weight shifted and she looked back in time to see him bow over her, bring his lips to the tail-end of the scar on her shoulder. He kissed it reverently and, when she didn’t stop him, he moved his mouth in a purposeful line of kisses down to her hip. He didn’t ask and she didn’t volunteer the information.

It felt weird when he licked the scar on her hip, the burned skin not quite insensitive but not responding how it used to. She understood, suddenly, why it had taken him so long to accept her touching his. Moved by instinct, she caressed the huge swollen scar on the right side of his stomach, always surprised that it looked so angry even though it had been decades.

Their eyes met and his softened even more at the insecurity he could probably read in hers.

She didn’t ask if he minded the scars because she already knew the answer would be no, he wasn’t the sort of man who discarded a woman because she was damaged. It puzzled her because it went against everything she had witnessed and experienced in her romantic life but she knew it with certainty.

He kissed her, his tongue slipping in her mouth, distracting her enough that she barely noticed he was guiding the sleeves of the shirt off her arms. It remained stuck under her body but she didn’t care, she roamed her hands on his back, her toes curling where they were still resting on the floorboards.  

She could feel how hard he was against her stomach already, knew she wasn’t quite ready for him yet and that while it wouldn’t have stopped her before, it frightened her a little now. When his mouth brushed down her jaw to that spot under her ear that had her gasping and she felt one of his hands running down her side and to her thigh, she panicked a little. “I haven’t been with anyone since the Quell… Since the last time we…”

She wasn’t sure why she was formulating it like that but it seemed important he knew somehow. Did she imagine the relief that flashed in his grey eyes? She didn’t think so. And she didn’t think it was about jealousy either. They hadn’t discussed what had happened to her yet and she wasn’t ready to tell him but she could guess he already had some ideas, some fears.

“Me neither.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her neck, poked at her skin with his tongue, moved down to her breasts… “We’re gonna go real slow. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

When his tongue circled her nipple, she arched her back. He took advantage of that to suck it into his mouth, torturing the peak with his tongue. The moan escaped her but, to be fair, she didn’t try very hard to hold it back. He buried his chuckles in the plane between her breasts, shifting his weight so he could slip one of his legs between hers. She trapped his thigh between hers, shamelessly rubbing herself on it while he sucked and gently pinched her nipples… His hand was roaming all over her body, _caressing_ her, and all she could do was cling to his shoulders and _feel_.

Eventually, his mouth left her breasts and trailed down and he shifted again, moved away…

She made a sound of distress and tried to bring him back over her because she thought she was ready now but when he kneeled down on the floor instead… She tensed, not quite sure if she wanted him _there_. She had rotted away in that cell, soiled herself, her body… But she locked that away in the deepest recess of her mind when she saw him looking at her, doing little more than pressing teasing kisses on her inner thighs, waiting for her to come back to him.

“Alright, Princess?” he asked, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her pubic bone but staying in safe territory.

And that was the man who was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop if she asked him to…

“Please…” she breathed out.

He was happy to oblige but he didn’t rush it out like he tended to do in the throes of passion. He touched her first. His fingers ran up and down her slit a few times, collecting moisture before he went anywhere close to her clit. He stroke her slowly, purposefully, and when she started wriggling, bundling the sheets in her fists, her breaths coming out in short breathy moans, he brought his mouth to her core.

At the first poke of his tongue, she thought she was going to die in bliss. But his tongue alone wasn’t enough to make her come and she whimpered, blindly feeling around for something of his she could grab: hair, shoulder; she wasn’t difficult…

“Haymitch… more…” she panted.

He teased her for a minute or two by placing simple kisses on her core and then he switched, sucking her clit in his mouth and slipping his fingers inside her. A synchronized curl of his digits and a flick of his tongue and she came hard, with a loud cry, her nape and back arching.

For a second, she could have sworn she was leaving her body.

She was boneless and limp in her afterglow. She barely noticed his pleased soothing kisses against her quivering thighs. When he climbed back on the bed and carefully pulled her up toward the pillows, she went along with it, automatically responding to his kisses. Her own taste on his tongue jerked her out of her peaceful bliss, reminding her they weren’t done yet.

He had settled them on their sides and seemed content to keep kissing her, _touching_ her… His fingers were so gentle where they ran over her body, barely touching really, yet the light brush of his hands against her already stimulated nipples was enough to send jolts of pleasure through her body.

She kissed him back with renewed purpose, pressing against him until he rolled on his back and let her hook a leg over his hip. Her left hand ran down his chest, her thumbnail teasing his nipples until he groaned into her mouth and his hips jerked up against her thigh. His erection was straining toward his belly so it wasn’t difficult to find even if she wasn’t looking.

“You don’t have to.” he mumbled against her lips when she closed her fingers on it. She pumped him anyway, the way he liked best, relishing in every groan and moan that he tried to muffle with her mouth.

She wanted to return the favor he had done her but she knew he wouldn’t last very long and she wanted him inside her more than she wanted to blow him off.

She stopped kissing him long enough to climb on top of him, making sure to keep her weight mainly on her knees so she wouldn’t crush his penis between their bodies. The small amount of pressure was enough to make him close his eyes tight anyway and she sat back, straddling him, pausing when she had his tip positioned at her entrance.

“Do you mind if…” She let her question trail off because it was awkward to ask. She would _never_ have asked before, aware he didn’t like her topping but also knowing if he was really bothered he would simply roll them over and take control. She wasn’t sure he would right then because he was too desperate to please her and she didn’t want him to be uncomfortable.

“You’re crazy?” he half-replied, half-laughed, running his palms up her ribs and to her breasts, clearly enjoying the view. “ _Fuck_ , Effie…”

“That’s the plan, darling.” she grinned.

She wasn’t sure if it was the pet name she had only ever used to tease him or the position that was quickly becoming unbearable but his hips jerked up of their own volition and a good two inches slipped inside her.

“ _Shit_.” he groaned. “Sorry. _Sorry_.”

She had meant to do that more slowly but it wasn’t as bad as she had feared. She felt stretched but no more than usual. Still, she was careful when she slid all the way down, not quite helped by the jerking of his hips he failed to control. His hands were kneading her breasts, his eyes were riveted on her but a little glassy from pleasure… They were both sweaty and she wondered if showering first had been worth it after all.

She experimentally rocked her hips and he groaned. He was never so vocal in bed usually and she revered in it, in the knowledge that he had missed this as much as she had. His hands slid down to her hips, lifting her up and bringing her back down… She followed the movement, surprised he didn’t try to speed up the pace.

It was slow and sensual and it wasn’t long before she threw her head back when she felt him swell inside her…

She felt his fingers brush the place where they were joined between her legs, and then they were on her clit and then…

She wasn’t sure who came first. She didn’t remember slipping off him or anything that happened between the powerful climax and the moment she opened her eyes, safely snuggled against Haymitch’s heaving chest. They were on their sides again, legs somehow tangled together, his arms were tight around her, so tight…

“I love you.” For a second, she thought she was the one who had said it because she had certainly been thinking it. But it was his mouth against her ear, his voice that was strained and raw, his hand that coiled around her nape and gave a possessive fond squeeze. “I _love_ you.”

_I love you too_ , she wanted to say, almost said it…

But she was so tired and he was so warm… She fell asleep nuzzling the crook of his neck, exhausted by the events of the day.

She woke up tense, her whole body ready to bolt. It took her a while to remember where she was, to register the soothing caresses of the fingers running up and down her side, to remind herself she was Effie Trinket once more. Finally, she relaxed and buried her face in Haymitch’s shoulder, not sure at which point he had rolled on his back and she had curled up against his side. She knew he was awake because his touch was too purposeful – not _demanding_ in any way because it was rather distracted, perhaps instinctive, but nothing sloppy either.

“I thought you did not want to sleep with the candles on.” she hummed against his skin, breathing his smell in. He had maneuvered them under the blankets at some point too and it was almost too hot in the bed, exactly the way she liked it. It must have been a touch too warm for him however because his leg on his other side was free from the constraint of blankets.

“Ain’t sleeping.” he muttered.

She frowned at that and glanced at the nightstand where she could spy an alarm clock. She wasn’t sure it was on time but it said it was well past three a.m. and she could believe that without trouble. Half of the candles had naturally snuffed out but there was still enough light that she could see how tired he looked. His eyelids were drooping and it was obvious he was fighting slumber.

“I am not a heavy sleeper, you know that.” she chided him. “I know how to handle your nightmares.”

He would need to learn how to handle hers though. But that could wait. She could see his knife on the nightstand, out of easy reach, so he must have taken it out from under his pillow.

“Not the problem.” he slurred, his head nodding off to the side. It jerked up again and he made an effort to keep his eyes open.

“What _is_ the problem?” she asked, drawing mindless patterns on his chest just because she knew it would help him relax.

“What if you’re not here when I wake up?” he replied in a pitiful frightened voice.

“I will be here.” she promised.

“That’s what you always say…” he complained. “Then I sober up and you’re gone…”

“Haymitch…” she breathed out, unable to swallow down the lump in her throat. She pressed kisses up his neck and to his jaw. “This isn’t a dream. I won’t leave.”

“Promise?” he demanded, his arm loosening around her.

He was drifting off and she pressed another kiss on his neck, right on his pulse point. “I swear.”

He fought it for a couple more minutes and then he let out soft familiar snores that made her grumble under her breath because _that_ hadn’t been her aim. She vaguely thought about getting up to blow out the candles but she was too comfortable and half of them were already out so it stood to reason the rest would soon follow. At long last, she grabbed his wrist and turned on her other side, forcing him to roll with her. By the force of habits, he spooned her, wrapping the arm she was holding around her chest. She manhandled his other one above her head so it wouldn’t get numb between their bodies and finally let out a long deep sigh of contentment because he had stopped snoring. He only snored when he was sleeping on his back.

She felt an overwhelming wave of tenderness for him when she realized this could be the rest of their lives if they did it right – _hell,_ this _would_ be the rest of their lives if she had anything to say about it.

It took her a while to go back to sleep but she wasn’t surprised by the fact Haymitch’s hand migrated to her breast long before she managed it.

She woke up again two hours later, shaking from a nightmare. It had been a light one though, Haymitch was still asleep so she couldn’t have made a sound. The sky was starting to lighten, a bit pinkish on the edge and she watched it for a while until more pressing concerns convinced her to get out of her warm cocoon.

It was cold out of the bed and even Haymitch had gotten back under the blankets at some point. The fire must have died down downstairs and she told herself she would go and try to stroke it up once she would be done. For the moment, she borrowed the old blue woolen dressing gown Haymitch had owned since before she had met him and blew out all the remaining candles before heading to the bathroom. Mindful of the sleeping victor in her – his? their? – bed, she shut the door.

She took care of her business and then wasted ten minutes searching for an acceptable washcloth because she felt sticky and, while she never minded that on the moment, it was always a little disgusting in the morning. She brushed her teeth while she was at it, humming a little because she her muscles were sore, her inner thigh were itching from stubble burns, and that felt… really great.

All in all, she was in a better mood than she had been in a very long time when she walked out of that bathroom, ready to sneak back into bed once she would have tended to the fire.

What she hadn’t expected was to find Haymitch sitting in the middle of the bed, his legs hugged close to his chest, his forehead pressed against his knees, rocking back and forth like a child.

“What’s wrong?” she cried out, immediately crawling on the bed to sit next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm.

His head snapped up and he stared at her as if he couldn’t believe she was there. His eyes were bloodshot, he was trembling a little and she wondered when he had last taken a drink and how heavily that played tricks on his mind.

“Effie…” His voice was rough, desperate.

“Do you need some alcohol?” she asked, choosing not to beat around the bush. “It is alright if you do. Katniss said you were…”

Her sentence ended in a squeak when he pulled her into a brutal hug. “ _Effie_ … I woke up and you were gone. I thought… I thought…”

“I was in the bathroom.” she whispered, wrapping her own arms around him. “I am sorry, I… I just needed to use the bathroom.”

“You’re alive.” he said. “Tell me.”

She brushed her fingers through his hair, patiently working at the knots in that untamed mane. He needed a haircut, she mused, it was far too long even by his standards. But, then again, she had been the one trimming his hair for years, the only one he trusted to bring scissors that close to his face and throat… The beard too needed to go. She had nothing against stubble but this was out of control.

He had let himself go without her to berate him.

“I am alive.” she promised. “I am right here. We are together again.”

The tension left his body and he slumped against her. He wasn’t heavy enough that she couldn’t take it. He would need to eat more too. And she was one to talk probably but… That was something they could work on together, she supposed. He tugged at the belt of the dressing gown and she let it fall off her shoulders because she understood he needed to feel her, skin on skin.

His hand was splayed on her back and she could almost pinpoint the exact _second_ he realized what he was touching. She clenched her jaw but he didn’t say anything, his fingers simply danced on the slightly budging scars, following the irregular lines on her skin.

“Same as mine.” he commented once he was done exploring their paths.

It was more of a question than an assertion. Because the faded lines on his back were from a whip, reminder of that time he had been caught poaching at fifteen, and the ones on hers were too characteristic to be anything but. Yet she resented the implication that she was following a trend. It was a poor joke.

“It was not exactly a fashion statement.” she retorted, a little too harshly.

She had more scars on her back than he ever would. She had more scars on _her entire body_ than he did now and given that he had brought back a ton of them from his arena, it was saying something.

“Do you…” he hesitated. “Wanna tell me?” She immediately shook her head, her throat closing at that very thought. Not now. Not yet. Maybe never at all if she could get away with it. “Okay. _Okay_. All good, sweetheart. All good…”

It was her turn to be shaking. She lifted her head from his shoulder, not sure when she had started leaning on him, and cupped his cheek. “I’m alive, Haymitch.”

She wasn’t certain which of them she was trying to convince this time.

“Yeah, you are.” he smirked, grey eyes twinkling in pure untarnished joy. “Should have known, really. You’re far too annoying to die.”

She laughed at the familiar teasing and tugged him into a kiss mid-laugh because his happiness was contagious and she wanted – _needed –_ to feel him against her again. The kissing didn’t remain innocent for long. They were starving for each other, thirsty for the other’s mouth…

He lied her down but she pulled him on top of her and when he nudged her legs open with his knee, she complied eagerly. It was much quicker than the previous night, foreplay sacrificed to the urge to be one again, connected as intimately as they could. It hurt a little even, but that was a kind of pain she would never have complained about because when he was in her she felt whole, anchored. She knew who she was. She knew…

“Mine.” he whispered against her mouth, just as she was about to burst.

“Yours.” she immediately confirmed, a little frantic, her voice rising to a higher pitch. “Always. _Forever_. Yours.”

“Yours.” he repeated like an unnecessary promise just as she reached her peak.

They ended up snuggling under the blankets again with her on her stomach and him drawing random patterns on her back, taking a better look at the scars in the pale light of dawn probably. The blankets and sheets kept sliding down until he had a complete view of her backside. She would have minded the chill in the air if his hands hadn’t been so warm on her skin.

“You’re so _fucking_ beautiful…” he professed with a handful of her butt cheek in his palm.

She couldn’t do anything but laugh and she marveled at the lack of bitterness in it. _Such a poet._

“What I am is _frozen_.” she rebuked without heat.

He immediately covered her with the blankets, snuggling back against her side. She could feel his warmth and she hummed in contentment.

“You’re thinking.” he protested after a few minutes of him dropping kisses across the span of her shoulders. He didn’t seem to be able to stop touching her and she wasn’t complaining. “Rude, that. I’m trying to distract you. Should let yourself get distracted.”

“I am very willing to be distracted.” she grinned against the pillow. “But I think it is yourself you are trying to distract. I won’t mind if you have a glass, you know.”

His hands had been steadily shaking for a few minutes now and he didn’t look so good.

“No.” he refused, half draping himself over her upper body. “Ain’t gonna get drunk when I’ve got you in my bed, sweetheart.”

“I did not say _get drunk_.” she sighed. “Just enough to stop the tremors. You can’t cut out cold turkey, Haymitch.”

“Did once.” he shrugged. “In Thirteen. Prohibition act.”

“Oh.” she frowned. “How was that?”

He snorted against her nape. “Hell.”

“Why did you start drinking again?” she asked, dreading the answer because…

“Not just because of you.” he answered quietly as if he had read her mind. He rubbed his thumb against her side. “Relax.”

She did.

“I don’t…” she hesitated. “I cannot be with you if you are going to hurt yourself by getting wasted all the time. It _cannot_ be _all_ the time. But I understand why you drink. I understand why you need to…”

“I’m gonna cut down.” he offered. “ _Ain’t_ promising I’m gonna cut down ‘ _till I_ _stop_ , yeah? ‘Cause… That was hell, sweetheart, it _really_ was. But you’re here now so… Maybe it’s gonna be… easier. Just… I’m gonna cut down. Keep it under control. At least try.”

It was more than she ever thought she would get so she nodded her assent. She could handle him when he was drunk out of his mind but she refused to be little more than his handler again. “As long as you are doing it safely… If you need a glass…”

“I can wait a little more.” he shrugged, sliding off her so he could brush his knuckles against her spine. “Tell me something.”

She stretched like a content cat. Her body felt like her own for the first time in a really long time. She was acutely aware of her every muscle and she rolled on her back, arms tossed over her head on the pillow, watching him with a smile. “What do you want me to tell you?”

“Don’t know.” He placed his hand on her ribcage – to feel the rise and fall of her chest. “What’s on your mind right now?”

“Right now?” She lifted an eyebrow, grabbed his wrist and guided his hand much lower until it rested between her legs.

He chuckled but obliged. “Good to know that’s what you missed about me.”

“Amongst other things.” She hissed when he unexpectedly flicked her clit. It didn’t take him long to get her worked up. He could have done more, make her beg for it, but he kept it lazy and when her orgasm finally came it was a gentle tide rather than a tsunami. Not any less good though. “Right now…” She hummed, watching him lick his fingers clean as if it was the natural thing to do. “I am thinking I didn’t get to use my mouth on you last night.”

“Who’s stopping you?” he challenged.

She kept her touch just as purposefully lazy as his had been just then. She took her time teasing him with light caresses on his nipples and lower belly because she knew it hadn’t been that long since they had had sex yet that he would immediately be ready to go. It took patience and cunning but she had both in spades. She caressed every part of him she knew would trigger a reaction and some out of pure selfishness. He was already throbbing when she ducked under the blankets.

There was a short struggle with the sheets because he wanted to watch but she didn’t want to freeze. She won the round by taking him whole into her mouth, letting him hit the back of her throat in the first thrust. He forgot all about blankets, then.

She didn’t use all her tricks because it didn’t feel like that kind of play. She just wanted to touch him, to pleasure him, not to make a show of it. He didn’t seem to mind. She must have done it right because soon enough, she felt the telltale signs.

“Effie…” he warned, out of breath, but she simply squeezed his thigh to let him know it was alright. She wasn’t sure when they had developed that system. When she let herself think about how long they had been sleeping together, it frightened her. Ten years, give or take. Her longest relationship by far. 

She crawled up his body and settled on his chest, pleased when his legs parted to bracket her hips. She could hear his heartbeat under her ear. His fingers found her hair, like always, and played with the dark curls. She wondered if he was growing used to it. He had always liked women with dark hair after all, it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to expect he would reconcile with the color.

Except it was Haymitch and Haymitch had an unhealthy obsession for her blond hair.

“Right now…” she continued the game from earlier. “I am torn between craving a cigarette and being hungry. The kitchen is too far but I might just make it to my bag on the armchair.”

He reached for something in the nightstand drawer and she grumbled because he was disturbing her rest, forcing her to lift her head so he could grab whatever it was he wanted. When she caught sight of what was in his hand though…

“Why are you keeping cigarettes in your nightstand?” she asked, puzzled.

“Picked up one or two more bad habits while you were gone.” he shrugged, avoiding her gaze.

Katniss had said something about that, she remembered suddenly. About him having started to smoke. And the half empty packet on his chest was indeed her favorite brand.

“You hate the smell.” she whispered.

“Reminded me of you.” he sighed. “You can keep them. Don’t need them anymore. Now I can go back to nagging you to quit.”

She smiled at the teasing tone but couldn’t quite shake the sadness she felt at the knowledge of how hurt he had been by her disappearance. She had honestly thought nobody would care, that nobody would miss her…

She strained her neck so she could kiss him and the cigarettes, the lighter and the ashtray he had grabbed for her slid to the side, momentarily forgotten. If he couldn’t stop touching her, she couldn’t stop kissing him, it seemed.

Her stomach rumbled and he snorted in the middle of the series of kisses. “We better feed you.”

“We should feed you too.” she replied pointedly, softening that remark with another kiss.

“Probably, yeah.” he agreed, nudging her off him. “You need to get off me for that to happen.”

“I do not want to get off you.” she pouted.

He erased that pout with his mouth and they got distracted by the kissing until his own stomach joined in the rumbling. She chuckled and he rolled his eyes, rolling over and off her before she could protest again.

“Don’t get used to breakfast in bed.” he warned, heading for the bathroom.

“That’s not the kitchen.” she cheekily pointed out.

“We’re funny today, ain’t we?” he mocked.

He left the door open and even though a part of her wanted to protest that she could hear everything and some things should remain mysterious, a bigger part was just more relieved to _hear_ him _at all_ so she kept her peace and huddled under the blankets.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked when he walked back into the bedroom. So far, her getting out of his sight hadn’t gone so well and she hated how distressed he got when he convinced himself she wasn’t real.

“Gotta start believing it, sweetheart. You can’t hold my hand all the time.” he mumbled, not meeting her eyes. “Besides, if you’re cold _here,_ you’re gonna complain it’s freezing downstairs.”

“ _Do_ poke the fire.” she requested. “Or perhaps you can push the heating system up a notch? I know cold doesn’t bother you but…”

“You’re a lizard.” he taunted, like he had many times before.

“They do have skilled tongues, I heard.” she grinned.

He chuckled and shook his head at her, slipping his feet in the old slippers that were waiting near the armchair. He was in a good mood and that made her smile harder – that and the sight of a naked Haymitch wearing only frayed red fleece slippers and her token.

She propped herself up on the pillows – adding that to the list of things she needed to acquire somehow because she needed far more cushions in her bed than Haymitch currently possessed – tugged the blankets up to her chin and placed the ashtray on her legs. She smoked an entire cigarette while Haymitch was downstairs and counted time in the flicking of ashes. She was just starting a second one, more nervous because of his prolonged absence than she wanted to acknowledge, when he finally came back with a tray loaded with far too many things.

The anguish on his own face vanished when he saw her. His lips stretched into a smile and he put the tray down to immediately crawl back in bed and kiss her like there would be no tomorrow. He couldn’t have been too upset or even that distracted this time because when the ashtray threatened to fall, he caught it without breaking the kiss and safely relocated it to her other side. She drew back because the smell of hot toasts and tea was far too appealing right then.

He stole the cigarette from her fingers and took a long drag. His hands weren’t shaking anymore so she supposed he had drunk something while he was in the kitchen.

“I thought you were quitting?” she asked.

“You got me addicted.” he grumbled, breathing out the smoke before crushing the bud in the ashtray and moving it to the nightstand.

They didn’t talk a lot during breakfast, they were both too famished and it had been a while since they had both eaten their full. The tea was particularly welcome because she hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. Between the two of them, they ate everything and she suspected they were both feeling slightly nauseous with the unusual amount of food once they were done.

They sat in silence for a while, propped against the headboard, her legs tossed over his under the blankets. One of his hands was coiled around her knee, the other was holding the cigarette they were sharing. He breathed the smell in more than he smoke it but she didn’t say that out loud because she suspected it would make it that much easier for him to actually quit. He could have chosen a more harmless way of remembering her by though. Buy her favorite perfume, light one of those lavender candles she often used when she took a bath and he appeared to have been stealing over the years…

Her thoughts switched tracks at that idea _. A bath_. She hadn’t had one since before the Quell. She might need to scrub the bathtub first but… A real bath in which she could soak for hours… She wouldn’t have fancy bath salts but she could pretend she did as long as she could _soak_ and do nothing… She wondered if Haymitch had white wine somewhere. He liked red better, she knew, but white wine and a bath seemed like paradise.

“Where were you?” he asked, bringing her back from those pleasant considerations. Her eyes darted up to his and he shrugged. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. I’m just wondering how Katniss found you. I’ve _really_ been looking everywhere.”

“ _Beetee_ found me actually.” she corrected softly. “I believe she had him looking at the prison logs. He found my false name on the survivors list and it must have piqued his curiosity.”

He frowned. “Survivors list? I’ve… I’ve never looked at those. Plutarch and I had people… If your name had popped up, we would have been alerted so… I never took a close look at the lists. I just saw the pictures of the unidentified dead women.”

She took the cigarette from him and watched his hand drop on the comforter, apparently dejected to think he could have found her that much quicker. _She_ was upset because he had been forced to flip through pictures of dead women looking for her. 

She opened her mouth but she didn’t know what to say.

There was only so many times she could say _I missed you so much_ and _I’m sorry_ without the words starting to sound like feeble excuses.

“What was it?” he asked after a minute or so. “Your false name?”

“Gail.” She took a long drag of the cigarette. She hesitated because she wasn’t sure how he would take it, she wasn’t sure if it would upset him more or please him or if he would just get angry that she had taken that liberty… “Gail Abernathy.”

He stared at her and said nothing, his face a blank mask. Eventually, he snatched the cigarette again and brought it to his lips before handing it back without a word.

“I was in Eight when Katniss found me.” she volunteered. “I was there for… I think three months now. I was in Two before. One before that for a time. They were the easiest Districts to get lost in.”

He nodded as if he understood but she wasn’t sure he really did. His fingers twitched around her knee. He licked his lips, lowered his eyes to the comforter… “How long did you stay in the city after the war?”

“Long enough to find out my family was dead.” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I was not in a good shape. It took weeks for me to be coherent enough to… By the time I was in any state to claim any name and get out of the clinic… Snow was about to be executed. I was in the crowd that day… I couldn’t _not_ be. When Katniss shot your President Coin…”

“She was never _my_ President.” he snorted. “She was bad news.”

“Anyway, it was chaos in the city after that.” she shrugged. “It was easier to just… slip away.” He nodded again, his fingers digging hard into the flesh of her leg. “Are you mad?”

She wouldn’t blame him if he _was_.

His eyes snapped up to hers and he took a deep breath.

“No.” he said and he sounded sincere enough. “I just feel _fucking_ stupid ‘cause you were out there and… Truth is…  I should have been the one to find you. Not Beetee or the kids.” His grip on her knee relaxed and his thumb started drawing soothing patterns. “I guess I gave up at some point. There were a couple of false alerts. Hope… I ain’t good at hope, sweetheart. They all agreed you must have been killed and dumped into one of the mass graves we found… I guess I just… I accepted it. It killed me and I hated it but I accepted that…” He shook his head. “I’m _fucking_ glad everyone was wrong. I don’t care if the last year was hell. Wouldn’t change it. Wouldn’t change a _fucking_ thing if that means you’re here and you’re staying.”

“I am here and I _am_ staying.” she swore, reaching out to cup his cheek.

She would repeat that as many times as he needed.

It would be good for her too. A fresh start.

“I’m gonna have to call Plutarch sometimes this morning.” he warned with a long suffering sigh. She supposed the former Gamemaker wasn’t his favorite person. She had no personal opinion, she hardly knew him. He had been an elusive character before he had become Head Gamemaker, they had gravitated in the same circles but Plutarch liked to be in the shadows – preferably of influent people – when she only blossomed under the spotlights. “Make sure there won’t be any problem with your coming back to life.”

She tensed. “Katniss _promised_ I would be safe.”

“On the escort front, you will be.” he promised. “I got you immunity before I even put one foot in Thirteen and Paylor was willing to honor it after Coin died. I made sure before I supported her candidacy. But I’m not sure how legal it is to play dead for so long… If anything, it’s gonna be a media circus.”

“Oh…” she winced. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Plutarch will handle it.” he shrugged confidently. “He owes us anyway.”

She finished the cigarette and crushed it into the ashtray, stretching her arm to safely place it on the nightstand behind her. Then she shifted so she could cuddle against his side, resting her head on his shoulder, happy to let him play with her hair again.

They stayed like that for a long time. The sky was a pale blue stretching on grey when he started telling her random things about the war. He described Thirteen for her and she could hear just how much he had loathed the place in his voice, he told her about Annie and Finnick’s wedding, about the baby she had heard about through the newspapers… She told him a little about what she had done in One and Two, the odd jobs she hadn’t been qualified for, the stressful urge to keep moving, to never settle too long in one place in case someone eventually recognized her… He talked about Coin a little, how disappointing it had been to realize she was perhaps just as bad if not worse than Snow. His voice caught when he told her about Prim and the children at the City Circle and, while Katniss had already covered that part of the story in the train, she couldn’t help but feel again for the girl, for Haymitch, for those children… She told her about waking up in the clinic, terrified and alone, she told him she had been out of her mind, _insane_ with terror… She told him about listening to the gossips between the nurses and the doctors, how she had heard about the Purge and how, one day, rebel soldiers had dragged a sick man out of his bed just because he had worked in one of the Games’ prep teams once upon a time.

After what felt like hours clinging to each other, he told her about being tossed in what passed for a rehab cell in Thirteen, about being strapped to a bed, naked and alone, while he rode out the worst of the withdrawals.

She told him about the cells, about some of the torture.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms and grabbed each other again as soon as they woke up. That bout of lovemaking was slow and lazy, a little on the exhausted side, but it left them starving and more clear-headed than before.

Leaving the bed, convincing themselves to stop touching and kissing each other, was difficult but, eventually, they made it downstairs. Haymitch hadn’t bothered with clothes but she had commandeered a pair of flannel sweatpants, a long-sleeve shirt and his woolen dressing-gown.

“Winter isn’t even that harsh yet.” he mocked as they walked down the stairs.

They were holding hands. Like children, she mused – or dysfunctional adults.

She tried to help him cook lunch but between the few stock of food in his cupboards, her disastrous skills in a kitchen and her incessant complaining that his heating system must be broken, it wasn’t long before he told her to go wait by the fireplace. She did for a while and then she wandered off downstairs, exploring the rooms she had never really taken the time to look at on her rare visits on Reaping Days.

The dining-room was dusty and clearly unused but there were entire collections of lovely plates in the dresser. She pursed her lips at the dried potted plant that must have died a very, very long time ago.

The cellar held several shelves full of bottles – some empty, some full – a few unmarked cardboard boxes that seemed heavy, the washing machine and the clothes dryer. She spotted an overflowing basket of laundry on the floor, clucked her tongue and filled the washing machine with it – taking care to separate white from colors like Haymitch had clearly not bothered to do.

The study was the real surprise though. Mostly because she found a canvas propped against the desk, turned around, and she couldn’t resist taking a look. Curiosity killed the cat or so they said. She had been prepared for some abstract painting Haymitch would have hated on principle alone but she couldn’t help but gasp when her own eyes stared back.

She turned the portrait around to get a better look. It was exquisite work, very accurate, very poetic, and she didn’t really need to glance at the signature to know it was Peeta’s. She wasn’t sure how long she studied that version of her, a version she wasn’t sure she recognized. It wasn’t the escort. It wasn’t the model. It took her a while to decide it was just _Effie_ , at her most simple, without artifices or smoke screens. Peeta had always had a gift for discerning people’s true nature.

“I couldn’t bear it.” Haymitch said from the threshold and she startled, tossing him a guilty look because she was caught snooping. He waved off whatever apology she was about to give with a careless sweep of his hand. “The boy meant well but… It was too hard. Either I kept staring at it or I wanted to burn it so I locked it in here.” His features softened and he joined her in front of the painting, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Guess we could hang it over the fireplace now…”

“That would be a bit extravagant, wouldn’t it?” she replied, fighting to keep the emotions out of her voice. “People might think I am arrogant.”

“You _are_ arrogant.” he snorted. “And it ain’t like there weren’t any pictures of you at your old apartment… You had one in the _bathroom_ for _fuck’s_ sake. Who does that?”

It had been a black and white poster-size reproduction of one of her first fashion magazine covers and it had been _lovely_. She indeed _had_ hung pictures of her on the walls of her apartment. She was a model and she was famous. Famous people did that. Besides, she had been beautiful… Where had been the shame in showing that off?

“It is a nice portrait, isn’t it?” she hummed.

“I like the original better.” he shrugged awkwardly, pressing a kiss against her neck.

She smiled and burrowed into his side. She didn’t point out she hardly look anything like the woman on that canvas anymore. He would have ranted about her hair color again to avoid talking about the real subject. Her beauty wasn’t her main asset anymore. She had learned to adapt. It was enough that he still wanted her.

“If you want to put it in the living-room, I don’t mind.” she decided. “If you are certain seeing it every day won’t bring back bad memories.”

“You’re here. That doesn’t matter anymore.” he denied with perhaps too much strength.

He would get angry about it eventually, she already knew that. He didn’t want to be and he would try to repress it and it would probably come out in the middle of an argument about something futile but, at some point, the next day or in a year, he would let the anger out. It wouldn’t be unwarranted. He had hurt so much, was still hurting on a lot of levels…

“I love you.” she offered because she wanted him to know, she wanted him to hear it, she wanted him to _believe_ it. Even if it spooked him off, even if the words terrorized him, even if he wasn’t ready for them. She locked her arms around his waist and propped her chin on his chest, head tilted up so she could look at him. “I never want to be away from you again. I… It won’t be easy and we are going to fight every two days probably but… I really want an _us_ , Haymitch.”

“Yeah.” he immediately agreed, his lips stretching into a smile. “ _Yeah_.” Then, he was kissing her and she found herself backed against the desk. The very dusty desk on which he had no chance in hell of having his way with her. “Say it again.” he requested when she refused to understand his – not so – subtle hints for her to climb on top of it. “Please, sweetheart…” His mouth ran along the length of her jaw. “Say it.”

“I love you.” she repeated, whispered it in his ear like a secret.

He drew back, cupped her cheek, stared at her with an almost frightening intensity… “Me too. You know that, yeah? I…”

He faltered and she smiled. “I know.”

He looked relieved and he pressed a long kiss on her mouth.

“You’re still hungry?” he asked tentatively. “I found some casserole dish in the freezer. Ain’t sure how old it is but that stuff keeps, yeah? It’s gonna take a while though.”

“Whatever shall we do until it is ready, I wonder…” she teased him.

“I’ve got a few ideas.” he smirked, wriggling his eyebrows.

“They better not involve this desk until you dusted it.” she deadpanned. “As a matter of fact, we _are_ cleaning your house at some point. Perhaps not today because today I am more inclined to stay in bed with you all day but…”

Her sentence ended in a shriek when he lifted her up, tossing her over his shoulder like he used to do when he wanted her to stop ranting and do what he had in mind. She laughed when she understood he was carrying her up the stairs, likely to drop her on his bed and keep her there like the caveman he could be.

Not that she was complaining.

She was starting to realize that it might have been easier to remain Gail but she would have missed out on the truly important things in Effie’s life. And those things, as it turned out, she wasn’t ready to lose again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Please do let me know!


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